


Folie de Trois

by ErisandraNoir



Category: hannigram - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Beverly Katz Lives, Beverly Katz is the Best, Beverly is a Good Friend, But Then Again They All Are, Confused Brian, Confused Jimmy, Confused Will, Dark Will Graham, F/M, Fluff, Frustrated Hannibal, Graphic Murder Scenes, Graphic Violence, Hannibal Lecter Misses Will Graham, Hannibal's Way of Courtship, Hannigram (Finally), Happy Ending (They Seriously Deserve It), Insanity, Intellectual Banter, Jack Crawford is so Fucking Done with Will and Hannibal's Flirting, Jimmy and Brian are Science Bros, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Manipulative Will Graham, Murder Husbands, No Major Character Death, Poor Jack, Possessive Hannibal, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Sociopathy, Someone Help Hannibal Lecter, Someone Help Will Graham, Someone Helps Will Graham, Tired Jack, Twisted love, When was he never?, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship, Will is Playing Hard to Get, bloody murder, psychopathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6901870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisandraNoir/pseuds/ErisandraNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is an exhausted man. Hannibal Lecter is living a precarious life. Esperanza Bevisangue is an aggrieved woman.<br/>Three different people.<br/>Living three different lives. </p><p>Their paths cross, making their fates unmistakably entwine with one another. And once more, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are pushed into the chessboard and are forced to play cat-and-mouse; trying to out win or outsmart the others’ moves on the platform of a deadly game. But this time, the stakes are higher as one woman tips the scales between love and hate, death and life, and as both men begin to balance their slow, lethal dance along the edge of a knife that questions their idea about morality.</p><p>Will Graham slowly begins to realize that the darkness around him may not be so much of a picture being painted as a reflection to what’s within his soul. Hannibal also finally understands what he has truly been longing for all his life but kept on denying due to his pride. Esperanza is locked between the battle of two men who were actually two sides of the same coin, and she finds that she might just be the bridge that could lead them together, or the sharp knife that would sever the red thread between them forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. WILLIAM GRAHAM: WHEN YOU LOOK IN THE MIRROR, WHO DO YOU SEE?

**Author's Note:**

> My personal take on the Hannigram Relationship with added inputs. What if Hannibal decided that he needed to convince Will that they were not so different? And thus, he enlists the help of an old friend of his, whom he believes can let good Will see the design in him. 
> 
> This fanfic begins after Season Two and during the events of when Hannibal was hiding out in Italy, although this time he is alone and he did not bring Dr. Bedelia du Maurier with him. But he does have a friend here that is an Original Female Character I created. She acts as both catalyst to Will and Hannibal's relationship and adviser to Hannibal and Will's decisions. I assure you that she does not end up with either men and neither is this a threesome (just making this clear). ;) 
> 
> NOTE! The places used here are most probably real, except for the names of the small establishments (cafe's, bookstores, etc.). The people mentioned here are NOT REAL. The situations that happened here are also NOT REAL (if they were, I'd be really frightened). If ever they are somehow related to a name or a situation, I assure you it is PURELY COINCIDENTAL and/or ACCIDENTAL. I personally made up some of the names and situations mentioned in this fic, of which most I borrowed from my vivid imagination (I'm surprised at how colorful my mind can get). ;) :)
> 
> However, I do not take full credit for some of the names, situations, quotes and words used in this fic for some of them are also taken from both the masterpiece Hannibal TV Series by Brian Fuller and spine-chilling Hannibal Novels by Thomas Harris. I can honestly say we owe this fandom to these two wonderful men. Cheers to them both! 
> 
> I request that you watch the TV Series and/or read the Novels for a better understanding of this fic. I can assure you that both TV Series and Novels would be worth your time and effort. :) 
> 
> Without further adieu, I implore you to read and enjoy. . .

SUNDAY NIGHT: WOLF TRAP, VIRGINIA.

DARKNESS. As far as the eyes of any human being can see. All he could observe from his surroundings was an all-encompassing gloom that made him feel cold from the inside out. He blinked his eyes once, twice, trying to get his bearings. But he could not even discern whether or not he was lying down or standing up. This place does not seem to be time-bound or gravity-controlled, he felt like he was floating on an opaque sea of murky black water. Everything felt so quiet, so peaceful. But he knew better, he had been experiencing these dreams for far too long for him to even consider the thought that this will not end badly or with him screaming himself awake from the terror he was surely about to observe. He felt trapped in his own mind; unable to escape the prison that was within him.

He closed his eyes once more, this time trying to force himself awake from the  nightmare that was about to come. But he could not seem to get himself to break away from his unconsciousness. He tried moving his arms and feet to no avail, he tried shaking his head or lifting his thighs but he was rendered helpless. Like a frog with a broken spinal cord; pinned to a dissecting pan, ready to be opened and prodded for the purpose of learning or gaining more knowledge. Not able to move but still able to feel the pain that was surely soon to be inflicted.

 _‘But at what cost?’_ He wondered.

_‘What is the price of knowledge? How much of your innocence should you pay in order to gain more of it?’_

Do you ever think that maybe, a bit of your innocence was already taken from you when you picked up that scalpel and slowly sliced open the belly of whatever creature you have to dissect as part of your medical schooling or secondary education? Something as lowly as a frog or a worm being sacrificed for the sake of science and knowledge, do you ever wonder if maybe these occurrences have caused you to slowly be desensitized to murder?

 _‘Innocence lost is the price of gaining knowledge.’_ He mused darkly to himself.

_‘Just like sanity is the price you have to pay for looking too deeply or staring longer than necessary in the dark abyss of a murderers mind.’_

He closed his eyes. Hoping that the gesture would prevent him from seeing the inevitable bloodshed that was about to unfurl from his over-used imagination. He loathed how he cannot even escape the nightmares that he sees in the evening whenever he sleeps. The mind was supposed to be a safe haven, a place where no one can touch or hurt you. A world only you would know about and you should be able to go to. It was something that only you could see, you could feel, you could escape to and manipulate at will.

_‘Then why is it that even here, in my own head, HE haunts me? Why is it that if my mind is supposed to be an escape, I feel imprisoned? Why is it that if I should be the only one to manipulate it, I feel HIS caresses on my skin and hear HIS whispers in my ear?’_

Will felt the tears that slowly welled from his eyes, not knowing if it was all in his head or if his physical body was sobbing as well. He felt the frustration, self-anger and hatred slowly filling his heart as he cried in his sleep and in his mind.

_‘Why does HE still have a hold on me? After all this time, has HE changed me to the point that I cannot even discern in my head which am I and which is HIM?’_

He gritted his teeth as he tried his damnedest to break free from this hellish world of mental and psychological torture. But his attempts were futile and soon, he heard the clicking sound of hooves as it slowly approached him from somewhere above his head. A whining from some form of animal was heard as the footsteps neared. He stilled, fear and fury mixing in his blood as he tried to move his body as a last ditch attempt to wake himself from his slumber. Soon, the image of large dark horns dipped in blood and decorated in raven-black feathers appeared above him, which gave him the idea that he might have been lying down. Then followed the long furred neck of grey and black undulating in waves of muscle as he stepped and moved even closer to Will’s side. From his peripheral vision, he noticed the large muscular legs of the great stag as he walked away from Will. Will breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that maybe the stag had passed.

But then he felt a nudging in his foot, and he gasped in surprise, he then found himself able to move as he abruptly sat up to scurry away from the large beast in front of him. He backed himself away until he felt a wall made of shadow hit his shoulder blades. He pressed even deeper into its solidity, wishing that he would just be swallowed and kept away from the stag as he approached with sure, careful, measured steps; like a predator slowly cornering his prey before lunging for the kill. Will stared at the stag that lowered his head to directly gaze at Will’s azure depths with its blood red eyes. They stilled as Will and the creature regarded each other with carefully timed breaths and unblinking eyes; gauging the reactions that would be emitted from each individual. And just before Will thought of standing up and running away, the stag lunged and buried its sharp horns into Will’s body.

Will Graham suddenly sat up from his bed, copious amounts of sweat dripping from his curly brown hair and sheening his body while staining his white short-sleeved sleep wear. He rubbed his eyes with closed fists, trying his hardest to forget about the image of a stag driving its bloodied horns into his flesh and  mounting him like a murderer crucified on the cross of Calvary. He removed his fists from his face and opened his eyes, blinking away the tears that have fallen down his cheeks. He slowly grappled with the ends of his moist t-shirt and removed it from his body before flinging it to the floor without much care to where it landed. He lay down on his bed; eyes wide open, refusing to sleep another wink lest he dreams about other monsters that are lurking in his head. He felt his hands move towards his stomach to touch the smooth skin there and he glanced down to see that the flesh remained whole and not bloodied or stabbed – like the way he saw it looked when the stag had horned his chest – save for one long scar that went from the left to the right side of his stomach.

The scar.

It was the only thing that _that_ man left for him to remember him by. A long smile-shaped scar that literally cut him open and allowed him to bleed excessively. He remembered that night as clearly as his memory could serve him. He had confronted Hannibal – a man he once considered his friend – and demanded that he deny or confirm what he had suspected the man had done or rather, has been doing all along. And when Will was met with silence, his lack of response only solidified what Will had accused him of. He need not hear the words to know when a man was guilty.

 _‘If he did feel guilt, that is.’_ Will grimaced.

_‘But I know that he felt that his actions were justified.’_

He remembered the anger and betrayal that he felt in his heart when he raised his gun and threatened to shoot him. He had replied that he knew who he was all along, that the scales have fallen from his eyes and he could finally see him clearly beneath all the layers and layers of lies and deceit that he had fashioned into a mask. But what he could never truly explain was _why_. Why did he feel so betrayed; lied to? Why did Hannibal manipulate him like that? Why did Hannibal slice him open only to let him survive? He knew that if Hannibal wanted him dead, he would have made sure that he stayed that way. But no, he was allowed a chance live; he was fortunate enough that Paramedics had arrived just in time and worked quickly to stop the bleeding before he died of blood loss. He was delirious when they found him, lying down on the ground clutching his stomach that sported an open wound from some sort of curved knife; he had been bleeding to the point that he had stained the white floors crimson, his face ashen and his eyes scared. But he did not die. He was not _allowed_ to die. In fact, the X-ray had shown that the knife had missed all the organs that should have been damaged in order to let him perish. It was like the man who stabbed him purposefully kept his organs intact and only damaged his skin to leave his mark; to leave Will with a reminder of what he played in his life and how much he meant to Will.

 _‘How much did he mean to me?’_ Will wondered.

 _‘That I would feel so betrayed with the knowledge that he decided to keep from me? If one felt betrayed or disappointed, it meant that he had expectations for a person or circumstance. What did I expect from him? What was it that made me feel so deceived? I shouldn’t have felt that way in the first place!’_ Will thought, frustrated with himself.

But he knew the truth. The one that he kept buried underneath his consciousness, the one he kept sealed under lock and key, the one truth that he could never truly deny no matter how hard he shakes his head in an attempt to clear his mind of what it cannot help but form. The one truth that he had hidden even from himself only for it to resurface whenever it felt the need to remind Will of who he truly was.

_‘The truth that I saw myself in him.’_


	2. HANNIBAL LECTER: CAN’T LIVE WITH HIM, CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT HIM

MONDAY MORNING: MONT SAINT-MICHEL, NORMANDY, FRANCE.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter stared at the black liquid roiling and boiling inside the transparent glassware that was the coffee maker. The whizzing of the machine announced to everyone within a radius of a few feet from it that it was turned on for use. But what the good doctor had in mind was most definitely not bound to trivial matters such as what brand of coffee would he take this morning? Or should he put three scoops of sugar instead of two? No. If one were to ask what he was contemplating about in his mind, he would most likely reply that he felt some sort of camaraderie with the black coffee that was boiling quietly inside its confined space. For that was how he would best describe himself as of now. Though his face showed impassiveness; his mind was turning, twisting, and taking no definite form. A plethora of ideas, memories, plans were being pulled out from behind the locked doors of his memory palace. He could scarcely look and identify each and every one of these thoughts as they came barraging in his head. But one memory in particular seemed to flutter about in front of him, beckoning his attention. And he could not help but give in and examine the temptation it was offering. And what he saw made his lips turn down; whether in a frown or a sign of sadness, one could never say. In fact, not even the good doctor could pinpoint how he felt about reliving the memory.

            William Graham.

            _Will_ Graham – as he would insist on being called. Although, Hannibal had always referred to the man as ‘William’ in his internal musings.

            Hannibal sighed as the floodgates of his mental capacity opened in full volume to fill his mind of all the details he had kept stored in his memory palace regarding this man. The one man who could make him feel contempt, delight and dejection all at the same time. This was the man who had the greatest potential in becoming his partner-in-crime; his companion for life. But alas, dear William had been much harder to break than he had thought to expect, and the pull of morality had overwhelmed his manipulations in the mind of the then ignorant Will. But once the gears in his mind had clicked, once the puzzle pieces had fallen to its rightful place and the blindfold on his eyes had been removed, William immediately pulled away from his grasp and ran straight into the open arms of righteousness. His mind reasoned that Hannibal was not a friend but a foe. That Hannibal was merely controlling him – manipulating him. That Hannibal was using him for his own purposes. The truth could no more than be far from all that was mentioned above. And although he does not deny that he did manipulate William and that he does have plans for him. He never lied when he said that he was his friend. Perhaps he even saw Will as more than just that – a _friend_.

            It was rarely – if ever it occurred at all – that Hannibal would drop a substantial term such as ‘friend’. He refrained from using such feelings-infused words due to the fact that he believed that they should never be taken with flippancy. To call someone your friend meant that you trust them. Trust is something that Dr. Lecter hoards and keeps to himself. He does not give away his trust ostentatiously to anyone he meets even if they have been with him for a long period of time. Time should never be the measure an individual must use on how much trust you should have with a person. It has also been taken into consideration that Dr. Lecter rarely ever stays in one place for an extended period of time, and thus, forging long-lasting relationships are very difficult. And finding a person worth trusting is even harder to consider when you are keeping your very dark hobby a secret from prying eyes.

            Will Graham was the one person that Hannibal had ever considered to be worth wasting his efforts on. And what a waste it surely has been for him. He had thought that the psychological degradation of the man would be the key to breaking him apart piece by piece until Will was solely dependent on him to keep him anchored to reality. And once Will falls apart, he would be the one to pick up the fragments to fashion the Will that he wants to stand by his side. The Will who was not afraid to use the gift of empathy that was bestowed upon him by whoever deity had created him. Sadly, Will’s perception was what drove him away from Hannibal and back to the sheep mentality that he had been integrated in all his life.

            Hannibal slid the glass coffee pot out of the chrome black coffee maker and proceeded to pour a generous amount of the undiluted liquid on a grey porcelain mug resting a few inches away from it. He took out a medium-sized glass container jar with silicone linings that housed an ample amount of pure brown sugar. He opened the lid, slipped a spoon inside and tipped a generous amount of the sweetener on his coffee. He then began to stir the spoon to dissolve the sugar and watched as the coffee liquefied the sweetener and the coffee did not look any different than it did when it had no sugar. But Hannibal knew that the coffee would not taste the same, despite the fact that it looks as if nothing has changed, he knew that it would taste sweeter due to the presence of the brown sugar. And he once again realized that he and the coffee are not that different with regards to their internal changes. Though he still looked the same, acted the same, had the same extravagant tastes, still ate the rude, he was somehow – different. He was not the same man he once was when he was still working as a psychiatrist in Baltimore. And he then recalled the question he asked Will before they separated.

            _‘Do you believe that you can change me, the way I have changed you?’_

            He could clearly remember the reply that Will had so confidently given him. Despite the fact that he was bleeding heavily, with his stomach cut open and his blood staining the floors crimson, he had looked into Hannibal’s eyes and met them with the same resistance he has whenever he had to take over the mind of a killer. He stared unflinchingly and so assertively when he had replied.

_‘I already did.’_

            Hannibal closed his eyes as he savored the warm liquid slowly running down his throat. He smelled the strong aroma on his nostrils and tasted the somewhat bitter but somewhat sweet tang of the coffee. It slightly burned his tongue but not to the extent of it being too painful. It burned him to consciousness, so much so that he realized that Will’s words held a lot of truth when he had spoken them. And they were not the words of a man who did not know what to say or that he had merely said them because he was in excruciating pain. He spoke those words with a clear conscience, and it was only now that Hannibal had understood what he was trying to convey.

            His relationship, his feelings for Will Graham had changed him. It had changed him a lot. It changed his perception of what he truly felt inside.

            Loneliness.

            A longing for companionship.

            He wanted someone who could understand him. Someone who would not judge him the way the norms judge people. Someone who can appreciate his art; his masterpieces. And although he had denied these hidden desires of his. He can never deny that after all the ungodly and monstrous things he had done – he was still human. And no man is an island. One can only last so long alone and without a companion. And after meeting Will Graham, after meeting a man who he believes can finally appreciate him; he admits to himself that he his _lonely_. That he wants to have someone by his side.

            _‘Murder Husbands.’_ He remembered with much amusement.

            That was the title that Ms. Lounds had used to describe him and Will Graham – Murder Husbands. And he has to applaud her wit for indeed, the title was quite fitting. Will and he were in fact very much attuned to one another despite their variances; they were the two sides of the same coin. Different to a certain extent, but similar in how they think and how they feel. For Hannibal knows that if his mind was a palace filled with rooms that stored information, Will Graham’s mind was a storm, and he, the navigator standing in the middle of his ship, is the only one who can understand its treacherous waters. Sadly, he does not know how to control his mind or man his ship whenever he sails, and thus he tends to get lost amidst the ever-changing waters, and there are times when he falls off his ship and into the abyss only to nearly drown in its depths.

            Hannibal sighed.

            _‘I miss him.’_ He mused. Shocked at himself and his plain admittance to an idea he once can never even fathom.

            _‘I miss the company that he can offer. The feeling that someone can understand you. That you are not alone.’_

            He stared thoughtfully at the half-drunk coffee inside the mug and allowed the gears in his mind to shift and roll. Despite the fact that he prefers to deny that Will Graham had affected his life greatly – he truly cannot. The mind can only deceive itself so much before it presents the truth, one way or another. And Hannibal would like to believe that prolonging the inevitable would not do him much good. Especially now that he finds it in himself the idea that all is not lost when it comes to tempting Will to stray away from the arms of righteousness and into his becoming with Hannibal. But he cannot simply just call out to Will while throwing precaution to the wind. No. He has to tread carefully around this delicate situation before he can fully bring his plan to fruition. The rules of the deadly game has altered, and he has to learn to play by them now that he has finally accepted that he still wanted to give Will a chance.

            He abruptly stood up from where he was seated on the small kitchenette in the middle of the large hotel he had checked himself into. And although the Le Relais Saint-Michel Hotel did not entirely suit his tastes in lodging, he had no qualms in the silence and privacy that it gave him. And so used was he to running and hiding that he never went to a place unprepared. He had abundant escape routes and hide-outs in scattered all across the globe and he meticulously prepares them all in case of certain emergencies. After all, one cannot be too certain about the circumstances that might occur wherever they may go. And his meeting with Will Graham so late in life is a prime example that this world can still offer him its fair share of surprises.

            He slowly walked towards a spacious mahogany table that kept his writing instruments, papers and envelopes. He selected a simple white archival paper ideally used for calligraphy and picked up his Visconti. He flattened out the paper he chose and proceeded to dip his pen into the black ink well. He then paused for a few seconds to rethink the words he shall be writing to address an old friend of his; one of the few that he can truly call his ‘friend’ and even then, this person is probably the most unique among all those he considers dear to his heart. For this person was the only one who can almost hold his full attention the way Will Graham has. And he had to admit that at one point, he had considered making this certain individual his companion, only for her realize what he was trying to do and she called him out on it with much disdain. Sad to say, he begrudgingly respected her decision to remain just that, his friend, and she had kept his dark secret for so many years since then.

            _‘How do I address her, after so long?’_ He wondered.

            And just as if a light bulb had been switched on his mind. He smirked widely as the gears in his mind came to an abrupt halt and he was able to formulate the beginnings of an elaborate plot. One that would bring in all the players of this game to one place, and he would be the one to slay them off the board one by one. But this time, he shall be enlisting the help of another. This time, he knew that _he_ would not be alone. This time, he would be bringing what the FBI would like to call ‘back up’. And as he smiled softly to himself, he hummed the Variation No. 7 of the Goldberg Variations of Johann Sebastian Bach.

            _‘Everything will fall into place once I set my plan into motion.’_

            With pen tip pressing lightly onto the unblemished white paper beneath it, he began to swirl the black-inked pen into the parchment and allow his beautiful copperplate handwriting to fill the first few letters of his minds work; his _magnum opus_. And much like a spider, he will begin by laying out the adhesive strings of his strategy so as to catch his “preys”. And once all had finally been trapped, he will begin to draw out the single prey he desires above all – William Graham. He paused in his writing to stare at the line he had written with much glee in his eyes.

 

Angelo,

I apologize for the suddenness of this request, but, I am in dire need of help.

           

He would need to purchase tickets to Italy, soon enough.

           


	3. ESPERANZA BEVISANGUE: A BREAK FROM MONOTONY, A TOUCH FROM THE PAST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try my very best to update once a week or once every two weeks. :) Until then, ta! :)

TUESDAY MORNING: FLORENCE, ITALY

The soft rustling of the curtains coming from the breeze entering through the open windows of a large, old Victorian-inspired house is what awoke the lady sleeping on soft plush queen-sized bed; the duvet rising up and down from her well-timed breaths. She rolled from the middle of the bed to its right side in order to blearily gaze at the brass clock sitting on her cherry wood side table.

7:00 am, it read.

She blinked away her sleepiness and groaned out loud while rubbing the back of her hands to her tired closed eyes. The sound of birds chirping and the ringing of the bicycle bell that signaled the approach of the young boy who delivered the newspapers to every house in her subdivision made the woman on the bed smile softly. Simple things such as the smell of coffee or the bitter taste of dark chocolate or the sound of a bell tinkling whenever you enter a certain old-fashioned shop made her smile and reminded her of the good things in life. She slowly opened her eyes as the white ceilings of her room greeted her the way it did every morning. She looked to the side and saw the wind blowing her curtains open as the sunlight streamed into her room, illuminating what the dark of the night had covered while she slept soundly. She sat up from her lying down position and moved to the side of her bed to wear her furry house slippers. She then turned around to fix her beddings, fold the comforter and smoothen out any wrinkles on the surface of the white sheets. And once she felt that it was fixed, she slowly trudged towards her staircase and walked down to the first level of her house with heavy feet. She was basically still asleep until she had her first cup of coffee in the morning.

Once her feet had reached the end of the staircase, she paused to look around her house, as if trying to remember if anything had changed while she was busy dosing off in bed last night. The spacious room of her dining table was filled with different things from different places. But it was mostly occupied by her painting instruments; easels, paintbrushes, paint tubes, water buckets, pencils, chemical-filled spray cans, and white washed canvasses of all shapes and sizes. If one were to enter her home, the organized clutter of painting materials would already be a dead give-away on what her occupation was. And if that weren’t enough, the numerous paintings – both finished and unfinished – that were situated in numerous corners and places around the house would also be an obvious give-away. She was one of Italy’s leading modern painters and she has successfully made a name for herself for being somewhat of an isolated prodigy in the Florentine society.

She sighed before walking towards her miraculously clean kitchen and proceeded to bring out her chrome black coffee maker along with a packet of one of her personal guilty pleasures – Kopi luwak; one of the most expensive coffees in the world. Ranging from almost $3000 per kilogram, she orders this coffee from her trusted supplier who obtains this specific coffee from the beautiful mountains of the Cordillera region in the Philippines, a small country somewhere in Asia. She watches as the coffee boils inside its glass cage and she waits with eager patience for her first sip.  After the boiling process, she lifts up pot from the maker and proceeds to pour an almost unhealthy amount in her uncharacteristically large Red mug, pausing to lift up the mug to her nose and inhale the earthy scent it gives. She proceeds to drink it with much fervor, despite the fact that it is scalding hot to her tongue.

There are three main reasons why she is repulsed with the idea of socializing (and why she remains an “isolated prodigy”, as they call it); one of which is her childish delight in giving in to temptation and doing too much or too little of everything life has to offer – an example would be her way of drinking her favorite coffee or eating whatever it is that she loves to eat. And her instability in making decisions and her brashness and unthinkingness typically causes people in her society to label her as an oddball or an immature woman of sorts. A handful of people who understand or share the same views she holds are the only ones she ever spends time with or even gives attention to.

Another reason for her estrangement from society is her direct way of speaking up what is on her mind. She is also oftentimes labeled as tactless or gauche in her words and actions. But in her mind, she is merely being sincere and that she would prefer painful truths than sugar-coated lies. After all, in a world where honesty is just another term in the dictionary that was conjured up sometime during the early fourteenth century, finding sincerity is a rarity amongst society. And Esperanza Bevisangue prides herself in the idea that she is sincere or at least, she tries her best to be.

And just before she finishes her line of thought, the doorbell ringing somehow brought her out of her reverie and she stood up with a slight frown from where she was seated at her dining table.

 _‘Who in tarnation is that? So early in the morning!’_ She mused to herself.

She rounded the curve going to her door before unlocking it and slowly looking outside to see who had pressed the bell. To her irritation, there was no one outside.

 _‘How rude.’_ She thought, annoyed at whoever had pranked her.

But as she was about to close her door, she spotted the red flag of her monochrome mailbox to be standing up; which signified that she had just received mail. She quickly went back inside to grab a robe from one of the guest rooms she keeps downstairs and proceeded to wear it before stepping out into the neighborhood to pick up the letter she seems to have received. She slowly opened wooden box and peered inside the cold gloom that was within. A single piece of pristine white envelope greeted her and she raised an eyebrow in question.

 _‘Now who in the world sent you?’_ She wondered to herself.

She slid her hand inside and took it out for examination. The envelope was obviously expensive and used by people who knew their papers. But it still didn’t answer her question, although a nagging suspicion was soon arising from her mind. And once she opened the envelope, the handwriting that greeted her expelled all her notions as it immediately answered the question of who the sender is. This brought up an even more intricate set of questions that she desired to be answered, and fast.

A simple message was written down on the immaculately clean paper which made her even more curious as to why he contacted her after almost five years.

 _‘Why now?’_ Her mind supplied thoughtfully as she read the message with a raised eyebrow.

 

Angelo,

I apologize for the suddenness of this request, but, I am in dire need of help.

                                                           

            To the eyes of anyone, they would immediately think that it was probably a wrong send seeing as the name on the letter being that of a man’s and not a woman’s to which Esperanza obviously is the latter rather than the former. Also, it had no sender name or any identification on who sent it. Thus, there was no indication of how she was supposed to respond. But she knew better, the nickname used was one that she and _that man_ had kept to themselves and promised that it would be mentioned as a signal only in calamitous situations.

            _‘Such as the one he seems to be in now and one which I obviously need more information about if I am supposed to assist him.’_

            And the lack of identification whatsoever only means three things; that he is nearby and is most probably watching her from somewhere in the neighborhood, that he is most likely being followed by the FBI or another form of police force and that he is on the run and in hiding.

            The letter was not just a simple request.

            It was a warning; a warning that the police is most likely proximate and she needs to be on her guard.

            It was also a plead – a call for help.

            Rarely did this man ever ask for assistance of any kind. And she cannot help but wonder just how desperate was he that he would contact her during such a critical time, such as when he is on the run.

            She knows that he needs to be careful.

            And sending a letter to her is most likely not a very safe decision for him to make.

            _‘And yet you risked sending it to me.’_ She smiled in amusement.

            _‘This is surely going to be very interesting.’_

            Now that she has received the message, she needs to send one back. And if her earlier assumptions were correct, he would be nearby, awaiting some sort of reply from her, signaling that she had read what he had sent.

            And so, with deliberate slowness – as if she was making it an obvious action – she slowly raised up the red flag that was loosely screwed on the side of her mailbox. Her way of telling him that she had received, read and understood what he was trying to communicate. She then turned around and walked back to the confines of her home, hoping that he understood what the action was supposed to mean.

            True enough, red eyes tracked every movement she made; every reaction that she had on her face and every action that she showed, including the raising of the red flag on her mailbox.

            Hannibal Lecter watched with hawk-like attentiveness from inside an inconspicuous car parked just a few feet away from her house, hiding behind a thicket of trees but still capable of getting a clear view of Esperanza Bevisangue’s home. And just before her door closed with a soft thud, a small smile appeared on his face.

            The message was understood.


	4. JACK CRAWFORD: A PROMISE MADE, A STRONGHOLD BROKEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoy. :)

TUESDAY MORNING: BALTIMORE, MARYLAND       

Jack Crawford is a simple man with a simple mind and a simple set of principles governing his life. His occupation is as straightforward and unassuming as his beliefs; the Head of the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit in Baltimore, Maryland. If one were to ask him how he described his line of work, he would most probably say that _‘he tracks down the monsters in the dark, captures them, and keeps them in captivity so they will never harm innocents anymore’_. And despite all the twists and turns of governments and laws, despite all the craziness and insanity that surround him on a day to day basis, he keeps his mind focused on one thing and on one thing only: “Catch the criminals that are at large and keep those bastards incarcerated.” It was a simple and yet firm principle that he follows up until this day. And nothing has ever shaken him from that specific rule that he religiously sees through no matter what.

            Until now.

            Until Bella Crawford.

            She was the one weakness that Jack has in his life. His beloved wife; his sun, moon and stars, the one woman he swore to love even until death. To be honest, she is both his strength and his vulnerability. But recently, she has become more of a weakness rather than a source of strength – what with the news of her cancer being kept from him and her being distant and cold to _her own husband_ instead of being open and honest. At first, Jack thought she was unfaithful to him. And though it pained him to think about the idea that she was finding happiness and satisfaction in the arms of another man, he did not show any anger towards her, instead choosing to blame himself for being an absent husband in his wife’s life, so much so that she chose to find in another person what she cannot find in him.

But little did he know that his Bella’s detachment and aloofness from him was more than just the idea of dissatisfaction on her part. And now that the truth has been laid out on the ground for them to see, he does not know which he would prefer more.

_‘The idea that his wife is unfaithful?’_

_‘Or the idea that his wife has stage four cancer?’_

Jack sighed tiredly as he rolled over from his side of the bed to prop himself on his elbow and silently watch the sleeping form of his beloved spouse. From his point of view, she looked just as beautiful and radiant when he first saw her and fell in love with the independent and stubborn woman that she was. And he felt his heart swell with love and warmth at the sight of her sleeping beside him and lying so close to him.

 _‘Just like before. When everything was perfect and nothing could shake them.’_ He remembered with a weak and yet fond smile.

Her chest rose up and down with steady intervals as she breathed out while asleep. Her face looks peaceful and calm; so unlike the turmoil that he knew she was experiencing internally whenever she was awake. And it broke his heart to realize that one day, her heart may stop beating and her lungs might never produce air like the way it is doing now.

_‘Alas, Death comes to all and he hesitates for no one. And when he finally chooses to embrace you, you must learn to embrace back.’_

He slowly and soundlessly moved forward to press a soft kiss on her smooth cheek, not wanting to wake her. And when he pulled away, he felt the wet trails of the teardrops that he had shed left on his own cheeks. And he could not help but cry silently to himself as he pondered the inevitable end that his wife will someday meet.

Bella refused to be subjected to chemotherapy, she refused to visit the doctor on a regular basis, and she also refused to be hospitalized despite her declining health. No matter how many times he insisted that it is for the best if she were to do as the doctors had told her to do or consider what their colleagues had told her to consider, she remained as stubborn as a mule, declining even the pleads of the people who loved her.

Jack could not understand what her reasoning was on why she did not want to even _try_ and save herself from the disease that was slowly killing her inside. He had begun to search for an explanation and when he could not find one, he deigned to confront her for an answer. But just as he expected, she also declined to give him a concrete explanation. Preferring instead to change the topic or offer him vague and unhelpful answers. But finally, on one night when their tempers started to rise along with their voices, when he had reached a breaking point with all the secrets being kept from him and the lies being fed to him; she confessed the reason why. And her honesty brought him to tears and he truly understood – though not necessarily accepted – her explanation.

She told him that she did not want his last memories of her to be a bald, weak and almost invalid woman lying down on a hospital bed, bringing out facial expressions of pity to anyone who would see her.

She did not want to lose whatever dignity she had left by being strapped to a hospital bed with an IV Fluid injected on her wrist and drowning in the numerous drugs that needed to be used on her.

If it really was her time, she wanted Jack to remember her just like when they first met – whole and very much alive.

And as Bella shouted and cried out how she truly felt about her situation, Jack had stood motionless in front of her, not knowing how he was supposed to approach his wife as she sobbed both in frustration and sorrow while rubbing her eyes with her hands. It was then that Jack had wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest while they lay down on the sofa near the fireplace of their home in Baltimore, Maryland. And though he produced no sounds to indicate that he was sobbing just as much, he knew that Bella had felt his tears falling down along with hers.

This was most likely the last time they would allow the masks they have created to break in order to allow the pain they kept inside to spill out of their carefully constructed faces and onto the surface of truth.

And Jack Crawford wanted nothing more than to embrace his wife, wrap his arms around her and keep her there, if only for the shortest period of time. He wanted to remember this moment of truth and confession between them. He wanted commit to memory every single detail of the image in front of him now. Not his wife’s tears or pain, but the way Bella _trusted_ him with her weight – both literally and figuratively – and allowed herself to be weak just this once in his arms. He wanted to reminisce this scene in his mind over and over again; for he knew that it might be the last time he would ever be able to see the real Bella underneath all the armor and layers of strength that she puts up every single day.

The memory he was reliving broke from his mind when his wife began to stir awake. She moved slowly and stretched her arms, like the blossoming of a closed flower finally opening up to reveal its beauty. She dropped her outstretched arms to her side before finally opening her eyes to regard her husband, who was staring at her like she was the most beautiful of GOD’s creation that he had ever clapped eyes on. She smirked, amused.

“Is something on my face?” She asked with a grin.

Lately, they have stopped tiptoeing around each other and have decided to make peace with whatever is keeping them apart. And though the progress is slightly snail-paced, they have decided not to eye one another with caution or wariness and communicate instead. They have also stopped acting like nothing is wrong, and have finally acknowledged the situation between them the way a husband and a wife should be addressing a problem like the one they are currently facing; together.

Jack smiled softly – the edges of his eyes creating crow’s feet – before replying.

“Yes, there is actually.”

Bella raised an elegant brow.

“Oh? And what might that be?” She mused aloud.

Jack smiled wider in response.

“Beauty.”

            This was another thing that he loved about the changes that were slowly beginning to unfold between both of them; his wife’s openness about her facial expressions. During the time when she had found out about her cancer and Jack was mercilessly kept in the dark about its existence, she would merely construct a strong façade and stare blankly or stubbornly at him; the way a noblewoman might a commoner or a servant. And though he tried his best to carefully pry open the obviously shut doors of his wife’s facial expressions, she refused to budge and kept a tight hold of the closed doors. Now, she was slowly beginning to show a little bit of emotion just like before. And as she blushed a healthy shade of pink, Jack found his heart beating with delight at the sight of his wife feeling incredibly shy because he blatantly called her ‘beautiful’.

            “Flatterer.” She spat without much bite to her words.

            The soft smile playing on her lips showed that she liked what he had said.

            Jack smiled before moving forward to close his eyes and press a chaste and yet meaningful kiss on her lips afterwards moving his own to her right ear.

            “You’ll always be beautiful to me, remember that.” He murmured softly.

            Bella slightly pulled away from him and held his face in both of her hands. And when Jack saw her serious expression, he was afraid that he had gone too far or said too much and had angered her again to the point where she would withdraw from him once more. But her reply surprised him and made him want to breakdown in front of her.

            “And I will always find you just as beautiful inside, as you think I am outside.” She then moved forward and kissed him back chastely.

            Jack refrained from tackling his wife and burying his face on her chest. He knew that she was not ready for brash actions and that they were still mending wounds and building bridges between each other. He needed to respect her want to be independent for it was one of the things that made him love her in the first place.

            He straightened himself and slowly stood from the bed.

            “I need to go to the Bureau early today, news about Lecter resurfaced last night and I have to check if they are reliable or another set of phony announcements made by bloggers and journalist who just wants fame or money.” He grimaced in disgust.

            Bella smiled thoughtfully.

            “They do provide enjoyment in your otherwise monotonous life recently. It has been almost three years since Hannibal had escaped and no one has been murdered enough to call the attention of the BAU. It was just as if his absence brought all the murders away. Which in truth; scares me a lot.” She shuddered visibly at her ideas.

            “It was just as if he was the cause of all the deaths in the first place.”

            Jack frowned at her reasoning.

            “You and I both know that, that is not true. Lecter was not the only psychopath around, although I do have to admit that you are right. It has been awhile since we last apprehended a serial killer. They seemed to have disappeared along with Lecter.” He mused.

            “And speaking of which, I have to go to the Bureau now.”

            He grabbed his uniform that was hanging on a hanger hooked to the alloy knobs of their shared cabinet in the Master’s bedroom. He brought them inside the bathroom that was located adjacent to where their bed was and took a shower before donning them. He then went out of the bathroom and into the bedroom to see his wife standing up, wearing her white sleeping gown and a robe to keep the morning chill away. She walked down to the kitchen of their home to cook breakfast for herself; Jack preferring to just pick up his on the way. He took a hold of his gun from his side table and slid it in its holder that was strapped to his belt. He then removed the hanger from his signature navy blue suit and wore it before grabbing his brown attaché case and heading down to where his wife was.

            Bella sat in the dining hall with a mug of coffee cradled in between her hands; Jack smiled at her before pressing one last kiss to her offered cheek.

            “See you later at dinner.” He opened the door of their house and strolled to where his car was parked at the sidewalk.

            He turned to see Bella standing in the doorway.

            “Take care, be safe. Promise me.” She barely called out.

            He looked at her for the last time before he drove away and called back.

            “I promise.”

 


	5. I BEAR YOU GOOD NEWS, IN MY OPINION

WEDNESDAY MORNING: BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

            Jack Crawford approached the double swinging glass doors of the Office of the Bureau of Investigation with a slightly contemplative look on his face. Earlier in the morning, one of the agents had contacted him about a possible lead regarding the whereabouts of one Dr. Hannibal Lecter. According to the man he spoke to on the phone at 4:00 am early in the morning, they had intercepted what they believed was a coded message sent by Dr. Lecter himself from somewhere in France to a house in Italy. He had been called in to check on the letter and verify whether or not there is a possibility that it was indeed sent by Dr. Lecter himself or was just a mistaken identity.

            Ergo, here he is now, standing inside the Office of the Bureau at an ungodly hour in the morning. He glanced at his silver Rolex to check the time. 4:45 am.

            He sighed.

            _‘All right, let’s get this over with.’_

            He walked towards his office and saw the silhouette of a man sitting down on one of the plush leather seats that he keeps inside his office for visitors of any kind. He grab hold of the indented door handle of the crystalized glass doors of his office and slowly slid them open to reveal a man who is undoubtedly an agent based on his expensive Italian cut suit and leather etsy bag resting beside him. The man immediately stood up with an outstretched hand as soon as he entered his office.

            “Bonjour, Agent Crawford. I am Agent Giuseppe from the French Intelligence. _Je suis terriblement désolé_. I apologize for summoning you at such an early hour. However, it truly is a very important matter and I assure you that it would be worth your time.”

            He truly looked apologetic and Jack could not help but appreciate his sincerity.

            _‘God knows we need more of it here.’_ He thought.

            He gripped the outstretched hand firmly and shook it.

            “It is quite alright. Thank you for coming here as well. I believe you have brought with you the letter that you claimed to be from Dr. Lecter himself?” He asked.

            The man nodded his approval.

            “Oui.”

            Jack Crawford frowned slightly.

            “I was wondering why you had to fly all the way here from France when you could have just sent it via shipping and waited for our reply regarding this matter in the comfort of your own country.”

            Giuseppe smiled slightly.

            “My superiors believed this to be a very important matter. We did not want unnecessary information leaked and thus, we decided that it would be prudent if we brought this letter directly to you. Instead of letting it pass through various processes that could tip off anybody regarding this matter.” He replied.

            Crawford had to agree with that.

            “Very well, please follow me to the lab. Agents Katz, Zeller and Price would process the letter and check everything there. I assure you, they are the best in their respective fields and they would immediately find out if this letter _truly_ is from Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

            Both men exited the office and walked towards the laboratory. None of them spoke as they regarded their surroundings in thoughtful silence. Jack got lost in his own mind as he began to wonder whether or not the letter was from him. And if ever it was, what would be their course of action? How will he break the news to Will? His musings were broken by Agent Giuseppe who asked him a question.

            “I need to ask, Agent Crawford, if this letter was truly from Dr. Hannibal, why do you think would he send it?” He looked at Jack questioningly.

            “According to your file, not a single news was heard about him for three years. He had been gone for a long period of time, and then suddenly, he resurfaces out of nowhere. Do you think he might have slipped and made an accident?”

            Jack looked straight ahead with a hard expression on his face.

            “From what I know of him all these years, he never makes a mistake when it comes to his decisions. He is meticulous, sure of himself and an expert in extensive planning. If this letter truly was from him, he did not make an accident nor did he slip. He _allowed_ it to be found. For whatever reason that might be. And that is what frightens me the most, Agent Giuseppe. He would not let this letter be found for no reason. He has a plan, and it involves all of us.”

            When they have reached the laboratory, he opened the double doors and entered with Giuseppe following closely behind him. He walked towards one of the rooms that was usually used by Katz, Zeller and Price. He entered that too and was greeted by the three figures of the agents. They wore their lab gowns and had prepared several pieces of paper that had an example of Dr. Hannibal’s writings during his stay in Baltimore as a psychiatrist.

            Katz greeted him with a lively smile on her face.

            “Good morning, boss!” She grinned.

            He nodded in greeting.

            “This is Agent Giuseppe from the French Intelligence, he has brought the letter that was said to be from Lecter. I suggest you start with the screening and processing right now. The sooner we get results regarding this matter, the faster we can plan our next course of action. If ever there is a need for any action at all. Questions?” He asked with a raised brow.

            Beverly raised her hand, like a student asking for permission to speak.

            Crawford nodded to her.

            “Have you told Will about this?” She asked.

            Crawford noticed how Zeller and Price winced at the mention of his name, for they know how much Graham had suffered in the literal hands of Hannibal Lecter.

            He looked into her eyes who stared back at him with sadness in their depths.

            “Let us be sure about this first, and then we worry about that.”

            Katz nodded in agreement as Agent Giuseppe produced the letter from his leather bag and handed it to Beverly.

 

-A Few Hours Later-

            “Gotcha!” Katz shouted in delight.

            Zeller and Price were suddenly brought away from their respective laboratory instruments in surprise from Katz’s loud voice.

            Price glared at her in annoyance.

            “Sorry ‘bout that.” She grinned sheepishly.

            Jack approached them with a stern look, while Giuseppe followed with hopeful eyes.

            “Well?” Crawford asked.

            Katz then lost her look of glee and her eyes suddenly turned somber.

            “Based on the hand writing and the hair DNA I have obtained, this letter it from Dr. Hannibal Lecter himself; authentically and undeniably his.”

            Silence reigned in the room as all its inhabitants took on their own facial expressions. A pin dropping on the marble floors could have been heard ringing as they all resembled statues when the news finally sank in.

            Katz looked dismal.

            Zeller and Price looked alarmed.

            Crawford looked thoughtful.

            And Agent Giuseppe looked fidgety.

            It was ultimately Brian Zeller who broke the silence by trying to bring humor out of the obviously bleak situation that they were currently in.

            “I guess the ‘game is on’ isn’t it?” He joked weakly.

            Jimmy Price glared at Zeller, obviously annoyed.

            “Yeah, the ‘ _game is on_ ’, if you mean the game of catching a _psychopathic serial killer_ who _gutted_ one of our friends, _murdered_ a handful of people, turned them into lovely cuisine and fed them to unsuspecting guests in his house, _tricked us right under our noses_ and had us chasing our tails as he watched in amusement while he sat down like a man inside a cinema with popcorn in his hands. So yes, Brian, the game – truly is – _on_.” He snapped in anger.

            Zeller looked alarmed as he raised both his hands as a symbol of surrender from the sudden verbal lashing he took.

            Beverly cleared her throat as she gave Brian a dirty look before justifying the words of Price while trying to explain in detail to Agent Giuseppe what he meant with all he had mentioned.

            “What Jimmy was trying to say is that, capturing Lecter – much less searching for him – is extremely difficult – nigh impossible – due to the fact that he is, to put it bluntly, a genius and a madman all rolled into one.” She sighed tiredly.

            “He almost murdered one of our agents, Will Graham – a friend of ours – by slicing up his stomach and leaving him bleeding on the floor, barely holding on for his life. He had held numerous parties while here in Baltimore and had served cooked human meat to his unsuspecting guests while he played the part of a wonderful host. He was an advisor, a friend to all of us, until we found out that he was playing us all along like the strings of a violin. I myself, almost died by his hands, it was only the timely arrival of Jack and the police force that made him retreat and leave me alive.”

She then proceeded to unbutton the top part of her blouse to reveal to Agent Giuseppe the long jagged scar on her neck continuing to her collarbone that she had acquired when Lecter tried to kill her in his basement.

Giuseppe’s eyes widened in horror as he stared at the scar mark.

“He is a great liar, an expert actor and an even better trickster. He can assume the point of view of any man. He can sympathize, empathize, befriend, cry, smile, laugh and act concerned for anyone to the point that it is a hundred percent believable. We were all mislead by the façade that Dr. Lecter had shown to us while he was still in our midst. And now that we know who he is, I am quite sure he will not allow himself to be recognized that easily, unless he wants to be recognized, that is.”

Agent Giuseppe nodded in understanding.

“What would be the best course of action?” He asked, while looking at Crawford for an answer to his question.

Jack still looked as thoughtful as before, except a sad look crossed his features as he stared back at Giuseppe before holding the questioning gazes of Katz, Zeller and Price one by one. He gazed the longest at Beverly, his demeanor turning apologetic before he spoke his next words.

“I believe it is time for me to visit Will Graham.”


	6. ESPERANZA BEVISANGUE: IT HAS BEEN SO LONG, OLD FRIEND

THURSDAY NIGHT: FLORENCE, ITALY

            Esperanza had no idea when he would be dropping by. And thus, she had taken considerable measures to make sure that nobody was listening in on them if ever he does intend to arrive soon and that her house was secure from prying eyes. She closed all the curtains and bolted unnecessary open doors, just in case some lone police investigator – or anyone, really – came upon their conversation and he or she either ends up as dinner on the table or a new “masterpiece” to be flaunted somewhere.

            She sighed.

            It was truly dangerous; this decision to let him in back in her life. It wasn’t one to be made lightly, especially due to the fact that this old friend of hers has an uncanny and great disdain for rude people. Do not be mistaken, Esperanza loathes rude people just as much as he does. The problem here is not how he feels for them, but what he _does_ to the rude once they cross him.

            A slightly fond and yet grimacing smile came up on her features as she recalled an incident that occurred upon them back then.

            It was sometime during the Spring season when she and Hannibal had been walking around the sunlit streets of Florence in the early afternoon, casually strolling in the Piazza del Duomo and enjoying the sights and sounds that could only be found in the heart of the historic center of [Florence](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence). They were just about to enter the Opera del Duomo Museum when a middle-aged male American tourist had bumped into her and she staggered back from the force of the blow that came from his bulky camera bag. Hannibal had seen her wince in pain as she held her shoulder, and his eyes had flashed a dangerous crimson as he stared at the back of the retreating man. Esperanza had held him back, gripping his arm lightly, while telling him that it was merely an accident and it would not be worth the cause of distress for such a beautiful afternoon between them. Hannibal had frowned slightly at her before checking her shoulder if it was bruised, and true enough, a small purplish circle was starting to be visible on the upper left skin of her shoulder. Hannibal examined it intensely, and though he had said nothing as he gently brushed his fingers on her skin, she knew that the American tourist would not be returning back to his country in one piece.

            And true enough, the Giornali Italiani, the Italian newspaper that she frequently reads every morning was studded with pictures of the dead American man the next day. He was found murdered inside the Opera del Duomo Museum early in the morning by the Museum guard who was making his rounds. The man was nailed to a cross that was lying on the ground, similar to that of Jesus Christ, complete with a crown of thorns upon his head and lashes on his back. The only difference he had from the Crucifixion of Christ was that he was missing his heart, his liver, his lungs and he had a single white rose placed upon his chest.

            Needless to say, their dinner together that day was quite eventful; when Hannibal had insisted that he would like to cook for them because he had the perfect recipe in mind _since yesterday_. She had smiled exasperatedly towards him while shaking her head in disbelief but agreeing to what he had in mind for dinner. Hannibal had given her one of his own rare smiles as he prepared the food for them to eat.

            And just before she could allow her mind to play back into the memories of the past, three short knocks were heard from outside her door. Her eyes widened as she slowly stood up and approached her house entrance; she tightly gripped the brass door handles and pulled them open to reveal her late night visitor. And if she had not received a letter a few days prior that warned her that he would be visiting her, she certainly might have been surprised to see his figure standing outside her door.

            He looked almost exactly the same as when she last saw him five years ago – perhaps with slightly less flare for his clothing but still as magnificent as before. He wore a black three-piece suit partnered with a red tie underneath his dark brown trench coat and a black leather strap bag of medium size was slung on his right shoulder. Her eyes moved to his face to find him looking slightly older with deeper cheekbones but still just as attractive with his angular features. He said nothing as Esperanza obviously appraised his appearance and she looked directly into his maroon eyes who regarded her with an indifferent gaze.

“Do you have an appointment with me, Dr. Lecter?” She murmured with a slight smirk.

The corners of his mouth slightly twitched upwards.

“Do you have a beer?” He shot back.

Esperanza’s eyebrows shot up in question.

“That bad, huh?” She muttered.

“Yes, it is as you say, ‘that bad’.” He replied monotonously.

But when his face marginally crumpled with obvious weariness, her eyes softened and she gave him on of her kind smiles before slowly opening her door and inviting him in her home.

“Come on in then, old friend.” She deliberately used the nickname as a sign of her ever-present friendship with him.

“Indeed, it has been too long, old friend.” He replied with a soft smile of his own.

He slowly walked towards the opened door and entered into the house. Esperanza immediately closed the door before slowly turning around to face Hannibal. Only to suddenly feel his arms wrap around her waist and his lips gently pressed to her forehead.

She stood rigidly in surprise, trying to gauge out the situation before calming down and lightly gripping his suit-covered arms, wondering where the sudden need for contact and affection came from.

“What was that for?” She murmured once he pulled away.

He shook his head before smiling tightly.

“I simply realized how rude and unassuming I was when I asked for your help. Right now, I somehow feel like I must come off as a man who only remembers one’s friendship with someone if I am in need of something. And for that, I apologize.” He frowned slightly at his words.

Esperanza regarded him with a critical stare, appraising his facial features before replying.

“Do you pity me, Dr. Lecter?” She whispered softly while staring intently in his eyes. Daring him to reply.

Hannibal had a surprised look on his face at her words. But he pondered for a few seconds before answering.

“If I were to pity someone, it most definitely should be myself, since I am in an extremely deplorable situation as of late.”

Esperanza narrowed her gaze at him.

“You did not answer the question, Hannibal.”

Hannibal looked deeply into her eyes, trying to gauge what she was trying to tell him; trying to see through the thick, forest-green depths.

“I do not pity you, _angelo_. I have never pitied anyone whom I consider my friend. Even when I inadvertently manipulate them somehow, I never pity them. For I know it is unwanted as much as it is unneeded.” He murmured before tucking a stray strand of reddish brown hair behind her left ear.

She straightened her posture and lightly tempered her gaze after his reply.

“Then do not ever feel unassuming when you ask for my help. Regardless of how long we have been separated, you are always going to be welcome in my home and in my life. Come, we have much to talk about. Especially your sudden want for beer, which I must say is an absolutely repulsive change in your tastes.” She scrunged up her face and looked absolutely disgusted with the idea.

“In fact, I cannot even fathom what is more deplorable than seeing Dr. Hannibal Lecter chugging beer from a bottle.” She flashed him a mischievous grin.

Hannibal smiled widely at her words before following her to the small bar counter located at the right side of her spacious kitchen and placing his bag on one side while watching her grab two Pinot Noir wine glasses from the topmost shelf of a large spice-filled open cabinet. She then set them down in front of him before scurrying to another room near the kitchen, presumably to get the wine. He slowly pulled out one of the tall chairs from the bar and sat down while waiting patiently for her to come out from the room.

Esperanza stepped out a few moments later, holding in her hands a chilled and unopened bottle of Pinot Noir. She flashed him a wide smile as she approached him while holding out the bottle, knowing full well how he loved the taste of Pinot Noir. Hannibal took bottle and popped the cork open and setting it aside to let the wine breathe.

“Tell me, old friend, where are you staying at while here in Florence?” Esperanza wondered which among the expensive hotels he booked a stay in once more.

Hannibal smiled wide.

“In the ‘Hotel _Il Salviatino_ ’, I booked a stay for a week.” He replied.

Esperanza paused what she was doing in the refrigerator to look at him pointedly.

“ _Sul serio_? You stayed in one of the most expensive and prestigious hotels in Florence? So much for keeping a low profile.” She muttered.

He chuckled softly in reply.

“May I be of assistance with whatever it is you plan to do?” Hannibal asked politely.

Esperanza shook her head.

“No, no _grazie_. I can manage. Though, I must apologize for I did not cook enough dinner for two people and thus I hope that these white chocolate truffles would have to suffice for you.” She made a face before facing Hannibal directly.

“I had no idea the exact date and time that you shall be arriving here and thus I was caught unprepared to offer you anything heavy to eat. I hope I am not being a poor host. I do have your most favored desserts, though. And I hope I could be on your good side since I specifically purchased these for you.”

She smirked.

Hannibal’s eyes widened slightly in amusement before he raised one of his eyebrows in a show of utter conceitedness.

“Yes, yes, that would suffice as an apology for your incompetence to provide me with dinner.” He replied in the haughtiest tone he could manage, albeit without bite.

But he sobered up immediately and he smiled as Esperanza neared the counter. He reached for her hand and placed his above hers lightly.

“I can never thank you enough for accommodating me, _angelo_. I may not show it emotionally or verbally, but I am greatly warmed by your welcome, more than I care to admit.” He mused.

Esperanza frowned deeply.

“All right, that does it. What on earth happened to you? Since when have you begun spouting poetic nonsense and thanking people excessively? I do not wish to tell this straight out for I might come off as rude; however, I am greatly bothered by the sudden changes you are currently showing me. For I – _più probabilmente_ – am not used to this version of you that I currently have the honor of meeting.” She frowned even more so as she crossed her arms to her chest and stared unblinkingly at Hannibal.

Hannibal stared back without so much as cringing.

“Well?” Esperanza urged with a raised brow.

Hannibal looked away for a few moments before closing his eyes and sighing once. He opened them again and had the look of a man lost on thought or a man collecting his words for an explanation.

He then looked back at her again, eyes wide and thoughtful, as if he was wondering on how he was supposed to break the news to her, whatever that might be.

“ _Angelo_ , I-” He began before stopping to scowl, regarding his choice of words.

His face contorted slightly to one of a grimaced look before smoothening out, like he was trying to keep himself from spitting out a sour candy.

“I have fallen in love.”

Silence.

Esperanza stared back at him with a blank expression; lips pressed in a thin line, eyes staring unflinchingly at his profile who regarded her with a guarded expression on his features. She stared at him for a few good seconds, gauging out whether or not this was a joke or was she merely drunk, despite the fact that she has not consumed a single drop of liquor and the bottle of wine lay far away from her grasp. She then began to wonder if maybe she needed to be drunk in the first place, just to process what he had just said.

_“Scusa, cosa?”_

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

Hannibal glared at her, his eyes flashing red.

“You heard me, _angelo_. I do not wish to repeat myself.” He growled.

“No, no, I heard you just fine. I merely wanted to be sure that I heard you _correctly_.”

Esperanza stared at him disbelievingly.

“You are. . . In. . . _Love_? _Veramente_?” She asked, still needing to be sure.

Hannibal nodded.

“I came across him during my prolonged stay as a practicing psychiatrist in Baltimore, Maryland. He was one of my patients, to be frank with you, albeit unofficially. He was. . . different, to say the least. And I found myself drawn to him, despite our extreme differences that came to the point that we contrasted one another in everything we did.”

Esperanza held both her hands up as if in surrender.

“Hold on. . . _him_? This. . . person that you fell in love with. He is a. . . _man_? Si?”

Hannibal regarded her with a blank stare.

“Do you have any qualms with him being a man?”

His voice sounded monotonous, but she knew better. This question was one not to be trifled with. For underneath his calm exterior, she knew that he will not take it well if she were to say she did not approve of his choices simply because she was biased on same-gender relationships.

It is a fortunate thing that she had no qualms about same-sex relationships, then.

She raised a brow at Hannibal.

“I have no qualms with your relationship. Nor _any other kind_ of relationship, for that matter. You may lower your knives now, Hannibal. I have no intention of telling off on you and your choices in whom you wish to spend your life with.” She smirked.

“Although, your reaction states quite a lot about how you deem your affiliation with this man as of great importance.” She mused with a smile.

Hannibal smiled forcedly.

“Indeed, I am quite smitten.”

Esperanza gazed at him for a short while.

“Which then brings out the question, what do you need me for? I assume it has something to do with this man, whatever his name is.”

“Yes, indeed. It has a lot to do with this man. And I do hope you bear with me, for the explanation is quite lengthy. But I shall start with the most significant one, and that being, Will loathes me.” He replied with a slightly forlorn expression.

“I may have. . . _distressed_ him during our excursions and time together in Baltimore, to which brought us to the point wherein he wishes me either dead or incarcerated for good.”

Esperanza sighed exasperatedly.

“You _distressed_ him? _Buon Dio_ , I believe that is a euphemism for _‘I manipulated him in the most insensitive way possible’_. And his name is. . . Will? William?” She sighed once more.

“Hannibal, I assume you have done something to cause him to _distance_ himself from you. Mind you, I refrained from using the word hate for I feel it might be too much. But knowing you, it might not even be enough to describe how this poor man feels.” She shook her head.

“What did you do to him, Hannibal? For him to bear such ill will towards you.”

Hannibal inhaled.

“I did what I could to help him realize that he and I are not so different. That we may have dissimilar designs, but that they complement one another.”

Esperanza threw a pointed look at him.

“That did not work so well now, did it?”

Hannibal glared back in retaliation.

Esperanza sighed before slowly sitting down on one of the high chairs to pour wine on the two glasses sitting on the counter. She then brought out the white chocolate truffles and a box of assorted chocolates in all shapes and sizes.

“What is it that you need me to do?”

Hannibal Lecter sat down on the chair adjacent to hers and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. As if his words needed to be kept an utmost secret from anybody who could hear it. And once he was done explaining, Esperanza’s eyes had widened infinitesimally and he straightened up again before regally picking up one of the wineglasses and slowly sipping a little from the liquid within.

“Do you agree to assist me, _angelo_?”

She looked at him for a good few minutes before giving out her reply.

“Do I have a choice?”

Sigh.

“You and I are overdue for a long conversation about having relationships. Well, luckily, I have all the time in the world. You might as well start explaining your plans before we retired for tonight.”

She then gracefully picked up her own wine-filled glass to take a small sip before popping a shell-shaped dark chocolate into her mouth.

Hannibal smiled in delight. 


	7. RIGHTING THE WRONGS, WRITING THE WRONGS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update. I cannot promise that I will be able to update religiously for I fear that my time is split between my med-school and writing this fanfiction. Of which most of my time is taken-up by my studying and reviewing. 
> 
> I do hope you understand.
> 
> Cheers!

THURSDAY MORNING: WOLF TRAP, VIRGINIA

Will Graham slowly opened the door of his house to let out his legion of stray dogs into the vast snow-laden grounds surrounding his quaint home in Wolf Trap, Virginia while he stood on the narrow brick pathway that was just a few paces from the door of his home and sipped on his early morning coffee containing too much sugar and too much coffee granules. It was something of a regimen that he follows on a daily basis for the past three years ever since his resignation from the FBI as a Profiler; wake up, make coffee, let out the dogs, and find some semblance of peace and happiness.

He watched with a soft fond smile on his face as his beloved pets ran around with glee; barking, yapping and tumbling here and there. He could not help but feel slightly envious of them as they are not bestowed with enough cognition to worry about the cruelty that this world holds and how painful it is to be manipulated by the humans living inside it.

Will sighed as he sipped on his coffee, trying to chase the slowly decreasing warmth of the thick liquid which diminishes every second that he spends outside of his house in the coldness of the early morn.

He closes his eyes as he drinks the last few sips left in his mug and tips his head back as he tries to finish every single drop, not wanting to waste anything.

_‘Maybe because you’ve already wasted yourself enough, and now you’re making up for it in every little thing you do.’ His conscience sneered._

_‘Or maybe, you’re just chasing what little warmth you can feel in everything because you miss the warmth that you felt inside you when you were still wrapped around HIS fingers like a puppet on its strings.’_

Will abruptly pulled away the cup from his lips as his hand involuntarily and forcefully threw the mug on the brick pavement below him. He stood still as he watched the porcelain shatter into small shards and bounce around the snow-covered path. He glared angrily at the broken fragments as they lay still on the ground with a few recesses of coffee still present in some of them.

A part of him expected the shards to pull back together and mend itself into becoming a whole mug again. But he guesses that reality has finally caught up with him and the porcelain shards remain on the ground, not moving an inch, no matter how hard he stares at them.

He closes his eyes once more and takes a deep breath through his lungs before opening them to stare straight ahead. He was surprised to see all of his dogs staring at him silently as they all stood still, as if in shock or surprise at his sudden outburst of anger. They stood a few meters away from him, eyeing him like he just lost his mind. He suddenly had the decency to look ashamed as he felt his face turn sheepish and he smiled weakly at them all.

“All right you guys, play time is up! Let’s all go back in!” He hollered out to them.

And when none of them approached him, he whistled for them to go inside. All the dogs scrambled towards the door of his home trying to outrace the other in going back inside the house.

He chuckled slightly as he opened the door to let them in. He counted them one by one, making sure that all seven of them are complete. When the last dog had entered the house, he had only counted six, wondering who was not yet inside, he looked up to see Winston sitting just a few paces away from the door while staring at something on the ground.

“Winston! Come on, boy! Come inside!” He called out.

Winston merely lifted his head but resumed staring at whatever it was that caught his attention. Will sighed exasperatedly as he walked towards the dog. And he was stopped dead in his tracks as he found that Winston was staring at the broken shards of porcelain that decorated a small part of the brick pathway of his home. He then lifted his head and stared at Will with – dare he says – _questioning_ eyes. And if only Winston knew how to speak, Will felt as if he was asking him about Hannibal.

_‘What happened to both of you?’_

_‘Do you know where he might be?’_

_‘Do you miss him?’_

_‘Do you regret this?’_

Will stared sadly as Winston looked down on the broken mug again.

“I don’t know, boy. I don’t know.” He replied softly.

Winston sniffed at his reply before bounding towards the door of his home. He looked back at Will one last time before disappearing inside the house.

Will stared at the dogs retreating figure before following his collective pack of four-legged fellows.

_‘I don’t know if I’m just hiding that I know. Or I am just too scared to admit it.’_

-A Few Hours Later: 12:30 pm-

            Will sat in one of the dilapidated wooden plush seats of the small mess-cluttered dining table in his home as he silently ate his lunch of freshly caught fish cooked in a simple recipe of butter, pepper, salt, and various herbs he had picked up before the winter hit hard in Virginia. He walked towards the microwave and pressed the buttons to heat up the bowl of rice inside for a minute or so.

While waiting for the rice to heat up, he picked up the stack of stainless steel food bowls for his dogs and placed them in one straight line. He then picked up the premium dog food sack leaning against the wall beside the fireplace. He proceeded to pour out the subsequent amounts for each dog he had. He worked without much thought process, too used to the repetitive schedule that he has been following religiously for the last three years. To be honest, he sometimes wishes for change, but he then reminds himself to be careful for what he wishes for, for one can never be too sure of what may come true.

After calling his dogs for their lunch time and shortly watching them devour their food with much gusto and tail-wagging, Will sat silently on one of the chairs and regarded his home with dull, lifeless eyes, allowing his mind to wander and skip to times gone by and memories of the past. He recalled his time with his usually-drunk father who would try his hardest to make ends meet for both of them to survive by working in ship yards day and night. He recalled his time in the University, studying to be a detective, wanting to believe that he could do some good, maybe catch the bad guys and be the best that he could be. He remembered getting shot for the first time and how this lead him to abandon his job as a homicide detective and allowed him to work as an FBI Professor. He recalled that fateful day when Jack Crawford walked into his life and how this one meeting changed him so profoundly. He remembered the first time he met Hannibal and how they regarded one another with cautious eyes, and how that cold distant relationship soon developed into a friendship and ultimately a deeper bond that lead Will into trusting Hannibal with all that he was. He then remembered, with bitter clarity how his trust was repaid with betrayal as he laid down on the ground bleeding from a wound that Hannibal himself carved into his stomach. He also recalled – with great sadness and despair – how he desperately held Abigail and how he watched the life fade from her eyes as he begged Hannibal not to allow her to die. In that moment, a part of him died when Abigail was taken from him. He could never forgive himself for her death and he continually blamed himself for it. He would frequent Abigail’s grave in Baltimore, sometimes bringing flowers and talking to her tombstone in an effort to try and make amends with the hole that was left in his heart after her death.

When the microwave beeped over and over again, signaling that his rice has been warmed since awhile ago, Will was abruptly pulled away from his dark musings and he stood up to grab the bowl. He proceeded to sit down and allowed his mind some respite from the picture-perfect memories it stored so that he could enjoy his meal in peace or at least some kind of silence in both surroundings and thoughts. He was halfway through with his food when he heard the sound of a revving car outside his house and the burr of an engine being shut off, a car door being opened and slammed closed and then footsteps crunching noisily on the snow-covered pathway to his veranda. Will took a deep breath and waited with slight anticipation for the knock on his door.

Three quick knocks sounded on his wooden door.

Will stared at the door for a few seconds. Debating and wondering at the same time who it was and whether or not he should open it. He was about to approach the door when a familiar sounding voice called out from the other side.

“Will? Will are home?”

It was Jack Crawford.

Will stood a few paces away from the door, breathing through his nose and begging whatever deity above that Jack was just here for his monthly check-ups on him and not a bringer of bad news. He remembered how Jack had walked in so many years ago just after he finished his lecture and he could not help but feel the same thing he felt when he saw Jack back then. He felt like a man who was just a few moments away from getting hit by a ten-wheeler truck as he stood immobile on a road, shocked to the point of rigidness, mind going haywire with fearful anticipation of the impending doom. He sighed once more before slowly gripping the metal handlebar of his door and pulling it towards him to admit Jack inside the house.

As soon as the door opened he schooled his face to reveal nothing. Jack stood on his porch, holding a small leatherette messenger bag with both hands and wearing his usual dark suit partnered with a dark brown trench coat to ward of the snow and his black fedora hat perched on his head. He regarded the man with cautious eyes.

“Jack, I am surprised to see you here.” Will replied politely.

“Good Afternoon, Will. Do you mind letting me in your home? It is snowing real hard out here.” Jack reasoned with a soft smile.

Will regarded him again for a few seconds before stepping back and allowing him to enter his home.

“Sure.”

Jack smiled, this time looking pained, and thanked him.

“Thank you, Will.”

Jack wiped his shoes on the worn-out rug and proceeded to enter the house while looking around and regarding Will’s home with slight curiosity. Will realized that it has been a while since he last let anyone enter his home. Though he believed not much has changed since before, albeit maybe his home is cleaner and well-maintained now that he has more time in his hands compared to when he worked as a Profiler.

“What brings you here, Jack?”

Jack chuckled at the cautious and slightly accusing tone of Will’s voice.

“Can I not just visit an old friend?”

He looked at Will and smiled slightly – albeit looking pained instead – but, Will saw through his attempted façade and decided that enough politeness was being exchanged between them. He wanted Jack to cut the niceties and just out with it.

He stared pointedly at Jack.

“I may have resigned as an FBI Profiler, Jack, but I assure you, my empathy is still as powerful as before. I know you are not here out of kind visitations. You need me for something. Now, what is it?” He growled a bit sharply.

Jack looked at him, his expression suddenly morose and pleading.

“Hannibal is back, Will.”

And Will Graham allowed the breath he was holding to be expelled from his lips.

___________________________________________________________________________

  


A few moments later Will and Jack ended up sitting on the dining table in Will’s house both looking exhausted and at the same time apprehensive of the news that has been presented to them both; Jack finding out at an earlier time, and Will finding out just now. Will looked at Jack and only did he notice the dark circles under his eyes; probably caused by sleepless nights either worrying for his wife or taking care of her in the middle of the night. He looked worn-out, a little rough around the edges. He had lost the hard look in his eyes whenever he led the FBI on a case. It was then replaced with a dull, world-weary stare that he desperately tried to hide behind a straight-faced façade. Will thought Jack reminded him of a cracked egg, dreadfully trying to ensure that the pieces do not fall apart lest the soft flesh beneath be exposed to the harshness of the world. But Will has noticed the cracks in Jack’s appearance, old age and weariness catching up to him, and a part of him could not help but feel pity towards the man he once considered his friend.

_‘What do you consider him as, now?’_ His mind wondered.

_‘A kindred spirit.’_ He supplied.

_‘Though I know he pushed my limits too far to the point of watching me break, he and I share a lot in common. To begin with, we were both betrayed by the person we trusted wholeheartedly. And in that, I do believe we can find some sort of neutral ground; a companionship.’_ He decided.

Jack glanced up at him from his place across the medium-sized table and regarded him with unblinking eyes.

“Will, I need you in on this.” His voice, even though it may be, Will detected a slight hint of pleading behind it.

“I would never ask of you to do this if I know there is another way. But you know him better than we do. You know how he thinks, how he plans, how he moves, how he decides. You understand him, so much more. . .” Jack trailed off, Will did not know if it was because he did not know how to end that statement, or he allowed the statement to trail off for effect.

But he decided to fill-in the unsaid words that he himself did not know which to fill it in with.

_‘You understand him, so much more than you should.’_

_‘You understand him, so much more than you know.’_

_‘You understand him, so much more than anyone can understand insanity like his.’_

Will stared down at the mug of coffee that has turned cold in his hands. He did not know what he should do. He did not know how he should respond. How can he? The last time they tried to work together in capturing Hannibal, it ended up with his stomach sliced open and Abigail’s life taken.

Will winced internally at the thought of Abigail. The one thing he knows he can never forgive himself for; his failure at protecting his surrogate daughter. Not from those who wish to harm her, but from himself and all the repercussions that came with him and his decisions.

He remembered all the memories he never could forget, all the planning that never came to be, all the promises that were broken, all the pieces that were shattered.

_‘Like the broken mug he threw on the ground.’_

And with the image of the splintered porcelain scattering the pavement outside his home on the forefront of his mind, Will looked up and faced Jack Crawford with a steadfast stare.

“When do we leave?”

He did not know how, but his statement sounded more of a resolved command than a question.

___________________________________________________________________________

  


Six hours later, he was sitting inside the private plane that house him, Jack Crawford, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz and a man named Giuseppe whom he was introduced to a while ago and was explained to him to be the one who brought the letter regarding Lecter.

The reunion of him and the science lab team was one that was both awkward but full of understanding and concern. They all knew that he was the one who carried the full brunt of Lecter’s manipulations.

_‘Or as Brian would like to call it; mind-fuck.’_

Will could not help but smirk at the term.

_‘Mind-fuck, indeed.’_ He thought.

He looked down on the file resting ominously on the wooden desk in front of him. He did not need to open the file to know what was inside. After all, he was the one who wrote it in the first place.

His eyes then travelled to the letter that lay just a few inches beside the file. It was pristine white in color and not a hint of smudge or dirt marred the paper. He carefully picked it up and opened it to glance at the words written inside with the same copperplate handwriting he had been so used to see whenever Lecter would write something that he needed to read or know about.

The letter made no sense.

Even when he tried to understand it from the perspective of Lecter, he could not decipher why the letter was written in the first place. He guessed it was somehow a code or a message that can only be understood by a certain person or people. He allowed his eyes to browse through the short message written on the paper before he placed it back on the table, feeling a slight hint of frustration.

He pulled his sight away from the documents littering the table and decidedly stared outside the glass window of the plane. He realized it was already dusk and the stars have just begun to peek out as the last yellow rays of the sun clashed with darkness of the night, giving it a few sharp shards of amethyst coloring the otherwise dark sky. He pondered on the decision he had made when he agreed to help them catch Lecter; wondering whether or not some good would come out of this.

But when his mind travelled to Abigail once more, his resolve was strengthened.

It’s time to right the wrongs.


	8. PLEASE, DO COME IN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness! I do so apologize for not being able to post anything. Rest assured, I have not abandoned this at all. Med school's just been grating on my nerves lately. What with my Preliminary Exams coming ahead.
> 
> I do hope you'll forgive me.
> 
> I cannot promise to update on a regular basis, but I shall do my best to at least finish this fanfic.
> 
> Cheers!

SUNDAY MORNING: FLORENCE ITALY

            Will, Jack and the Lab Team had arrived in Italy sometime in the afternoon of Friday. They took the time to settle their bags in the hotel that they booked prior to their flight and allowed themselves to rest for half an hour before proceeding to eat in the dining hall on the ground floor of the hotel. None of them spoke to each other except about what they would do to capture Hannibal. Even Brian and Jimmy had not been their usual talkative selves as of late and opted to plug in their headphones and listen to music whenever they were not discussing the file on Lecter.

            Will could cut the tension with a knife. He felt the growing nervousness and anticipation that the team was exuding whenever they would converse. During Friday lunch, Jack decided to bring them all to the Polizia di Stato or State Police that was more or less the equivalent of the FBI in Italy. Agent Giuseppe had dropped their hotel during lunch time and informed them that the State Police was ready to receive them for briefing. And thus, the team headed for the Polizia di Stato Office to discuss the situation at hand.

            It took them until Saturday to tie up loose ends with the Police Force in Italy and the one they left behind in Baltimore. The paperwork was a rigorous routine that they had to go through and the briefing and brain-storming regarding the combined files in Italy and the ones that they have amassed through the years on knowing Doctor Lecter took most of their time. Talking with the Officials was also quite tedious although thankfully harmonious. They had to converse with a lot of Officials who did not grasp the situation entirely, and after working and debating to create a  profile to be given to the police and its officials, they successfully pieced together a highly probable profile to give out by the time the moon was up on Saturday.

            Will was tasked by Jack Crawford to speak and be the one to deliver the opening remarks for the team and the profile of one Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Will obliged and stood at the podium in one of the rooms in the Polizia di Stato Office that was normally used for briefings, he felt like he was back at the FBI Academy with his teaching post back in the days when he was still a professor. He was – thankfully – received quite well by his audience of thirty police officers and ten Officials. He ended his statement with a warning to never approach Dr. Lecter alone and without contacting back-up. Agent Giuseppe and Jack Crawford added a few more statements to what Will had mentioned before dismissing the group.

            Agent Giuseppe then announced that they should be eating dinner in the hotel dining hall and that he would be joining them in order to brief them about their itinerary for the next day. And thus, they concluded the day with a tense dinner announcement that Agent Giuseppe had tracked down the house that the letter was supposed to be sent to and had successfully acquired them a search warrant and that they would be driving to the house tomorrow morning to meet with the owner of the house.

            They all ate in silence after that, feeling the anticipation of what was to come for the next day. None of them slept well that night, though not for lack of trying, but rather, for fear of the unknown regarding their future and how this would all turn out to be.

 

            Will woke up in the morning from the dark recesses of a dream he could hardly recall. He checked the clock on the wall above the door and realized that it was only 5:30am. He sat up and rubbed his face with his hands in agitation. He would be lying if he said he was not terrified at what they would have to face once they find Hannibal.

            _‘Once we find Hannibal.’_ He found this statement darkly amusing.

 _‘You seem to expect that we will find him?’_ His conscious murmured.

            _‘It’s only a matter of time. He’ll show up, I know he will.’_

            Will then proceed to get up from the bed to take a bath, with the idea in mind that he would eat breakfast earlier than the others.

            _‘I need some time to think alone, without their emotions and statements filling my head and marring my mind.’_

            After a quick bath, he proceeded to dress up with his usual black trousers and maroon long-sleeved button-up polo shirt. He walked silently towards the dining hall, noticing that only a handful of people have occupied that large room, mostly those who would wake up early for a work-related reason of some kind. He chose to sit at one of the secluded tables that offered him an obscure view of everybody but without him being noticed. He ate his breakfast of eggs benedict with a side of bacon in peace, choosing to look at the early morning risers who ate breakfast quickly or at a snail’s pace with sleep still beckoning in their systems. He would sometimes look out the high windows of the hotel to see the office workers step out of the café’s they would frequent with a disposable cup of hot coffee in their hands.

            _‘How normal they look. How. . . human.’_ He thought with a half-smile.

            _‘Once upon a time, I was no different than they are; living day to day as a professor, a normal, functioning, simple man who lived life the way it should be lived. Calm, quiet and peaceful.’_

He smiled wistfully at a man who was wearing his jogging gear with two Siberian husky’s flanking him on both sides. He had a soft smile of his face as he watched his dogs run beside him with an equally happy – or at least Will likes to believe that it is a happy face for dog – perspective on their features. He called out to them in some language Will cannot detect before he ran faster and the dogs yapped in delight while running after their owner.

He looked away from the happy sight and sighed deeply.

 _‘How the hell did I go from FBI Academy Professor to Special Agent FBI Profiler to retired Agent and then back to Special Agent FBI Profiler again?’_ He mused darkly.

He shook his head in an attempt to scramble his thoughts from being too dark and serious and focused on finishing the deliciously cooked before him. But as he was just about to pick up his fork, he felt a presence to his left and stiffened slightly.

“Mind if I keep you company?” The female voice asked.

Will looked up to see the hopeful and friendly eyes of one Beverly Katz staring down at him from her standing position to his left. She was holding a plate with some sort of salad and chicken in one hand while her other held a glass of cold water.

“But, if you don’t want to and you need to think alone for a while it’s OK, too!” She added quickly with a soft smile on her face.

Will looked away from her before sighing.

“Don’t do that.” He murmured quietly before looking back at Beverly.

Beverly was frowning at him, confused with his statement.

“Don’t treat me like I’m a breakable porcelain tea cup that should only be used for special occasions.”

Will stared at Beverly as she stared back with an unreadable expression on her face. He sighed again and gave her a soft albeit slightly pained smile.

“Of course I’d love to have you for company.” He motioned for her to sit down next to him on the square-shaped table before turning his head away.

Beverly moved to sit beside him in silence as Will returned to poking his eggs benedict and eating it with less delight than he originally started on. Beverly sat silently beside him, staring at her salad and not lifting her fork to eat. Will stopped eating and looked at Beverly who was staring down on her plate as if she was trying to scrutinize some hidden secret in the leafy greens drizzled with some sort of yellow sauce piled atop her plate.

“Bev?” Will asked, slightly perturbed.

“You alright?”

Beverly glanced sideways at him.

“You’re not a breakable tea cup.” She murmured softly.

She spoke so softly in fact, that Will actually wondered if he heard her correctly.

“What?” He asked, surprised.

Beverly cleared her throat before speaking slightly louder.

“I’m not treating you like a breakable tea cup. You’re _not_ a breakable tea cup. Not to _me_. I’m just acting the way a friend would – _should_ – normally act if he or she is concerned for another friend.” She paused before looking at Will.

“You’re _my friend_ , Will. And I _do_ care for you. I won’t even _try_ to understand how difficult, confusing and frustrating this is for you right now. To be here on this point in time again; chasing after Hannibal the way you used to before. Before. . . everything went to shit and you resigned from the FBI.” Beverly took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m worried, Will. _Worried sick_ with anticipation and. . . fear. I don’t know what to expect and frankly, that _terrifies_ me, Will. Can you blame me, though? For worrying? About you? About Jack? And Brian? And Jimmy?” She looked away, tears pooling on the corners of her eyes.

“Can you _blame_ me for worrying about those who I consider my friends? Is that not what friends _should do_?” And when she looked back at Will, a small teardrop fell from the corner of her eyes and trailed down her cheek.

Will felt abashed. He did not handle his own emotions well, much less the emotions of other people. He had no idea how to console Beverly without looking like he’s trying too hard. And he _does not_ want to look insincere. Not to Beverly.

Beverly.

The only woman who treated him like he was normal. Sane. The only one who firmly believed in him when even Alana was close to giving up on him.

So he decided to do what he thought is right. He slowly moved his hand atop Beverly’s and squeezed it lightly while allowing his thumbs to rotate soothingly above her hand. Beverly took this as a sign that Will understood and she wiped away her tear with her free hand. Their eyes met and Beverly flashed Will her most winning smile.

Will smiled back, more real now than he did a while ago.

“There she is.” He murmured.

“The Beverly I came to know.”

And Beverly laughed out loud as she sniffled and ate breakfast with him.

 

            Will sat in the front seat of the car that they have rented in Italy. He watched as the first vestiges of snow carefully fall from the sky and onto the ground, creating an almost magical view from his side of the window. Originally, the police offered their services to them and gave them permission to borrow one of their police cars. However, Will pointed out that it would be too obvious that they were doing an investigation, and they cannot alarm or tip-off anyone that might alarm Hannibal or the mysterious person that the letter was sent too and thus he suggested to use a non-descript car to hide their identity from everyone else. This gave them the decision to rent a car for them to use for the duration of their stay in Florence. They rented two cars, both a black Fiat Panda, one for him and Jack and another for the Lab Team. They decided that being split into two cars covers more area and gives them better chances of backing-up the other in case of an emergency of some sort.

            Will shook away his sleep as he had given in to his body’s demands for rest while Jack drove them to the outskirts of Tuscany into an obviously luxuriant subdivision. He allowed his eyes to roam around the massive houses – some large and spacious enough to even be called mansions – and noticed that the place was obviously well-off and peaceful.

            _‘A slice of paradise in an otherwise busy and noisy place.’_ He thought with a slight smirk.

            _‘No doubt, only the elite of the society live here. Well, what more could you expect from Hannibal? His contacts would most likely be the people who are part of the higher stratums of society. Why am I not surprised?’_

            The car came to a soft halt in front of a grandiose and a slightly traditional Italian house made of large dark reddish-brown bricks accentuated with large square windows, an old wooden double-paneled door and a spacious lawn and backyard. However, the house also seemed to have an underlying Scottish tone with its chimneys and curved window panels. Overall, the house seemed quaint if not a bit ancient, and it breathes a sort of history to anyone who glances at it.

            Jack turned off the car engine and looked at Will. Will stared back with a blank expression but dark cutting eyes. He looked away and stared back into the house that they have parked outside of. He heard Jack give an intake of breath before exhaling slowly.

            “Let’s go, Will.”

            Will nodded and they both opened the doors of the car and stepped out into the granite road crunching underneath their feet and the Lab Team following them from behind. Jack turned to look at the trio and shook his head before motioning to them to return to the car.

            “We don’t want to startle anyone. Stay in the car and I’ll call you if we need you to be inside.” Jack commanded.

            Jack nodded for Will to continue walking and Will slowly went up the front porch of the house and approached the door, his vision then slowly focused on the door knocker on the top middle of the wooden door and was slightly taken aback to see that it was the small metal figure of a stag with its horns outstretched to both the sides of its head and its mouth gripping the rounded metal used for knocking. He was then suddenly assaulted with the image of the ravenstag that still visited his dreams every now and then and so alarmed was he that he did not even realize that he took a sudden step back and almost collided with Jack.

            “Will!” Jack called from behind him, concern coloring his voice.

            “Are you alright?”

            Will blinked away the fading image of the ravenstag in his mind and turned to look at Jack.

            “Yeah. Sorry. Just got dizzy. I woke up with a headache this morning, must be the stress catching up to me.” Will lied smoothly.

            Jack nodded slowly, although a frown came on his face.

            “Do you need medicine?” Jack asked.

            Will shook his head.

            “No, I try to lessen my intake of medicine as much as possible.” He replied.

            Jack nodded once more, this time in understanding.

            “Alright. Do you want to do the honors?” He asked while motioning for the door knocker.

            Will took a deep breath before answering.

            “Why not?”

            And he lifted the rounded metal on the stag’s mouth and knocked three times.

 

            Esperanza sat on the high metal chairs that rounded the island of her kitchen as she sipped on some dark hot chocolate as she heard the tell-tale signs of a car engine being shut off outside her lawn. She had already expected the police to appear outside her house sometime this week and thus had prepared herself for the inevitable confrontation and rigorous interview.

            After having her deep conversation with Hannibal regarding her part in his plan a few nights ago, she began to weave her own into her mind. She had already primed herself, mentally and emotionally for what was surely going to be a psychological battle of wills that she shall partake in against this William Graham that Hannibal kept telling her about. And from what she has heard from Hannibal, William was quite an adept empath although he would surely be slightly rusty from disuse.

            She smiled unfathomably from the rim of her porcelain mug and allowed her eyes to gleam with delight. She loved a good challenge, and if this Will Graham was truly a great empath, she would make sure that he would meet his match with hers.

            _‘After all.’_ She thought.

            _‘It’s not everyday that I can meet a man who has the same mind as mine.’_ She smirked as she waited patiently for the FBI to approach her home and knock on her door.

            And just as she was half-way through with her drink, she heard three short knocks reverberate from the other side of the door.

            Esperanza stood up and approached it with the calm façade of a predator awaiting patiently for its prey.

 

            Will and Jack waited patiently from outside the house, pulling their trench coats closer and keeping their eyes and ears open to any noise. Will could hear the faint sounds from inside the house, the scratching of the legs of a chair against the floor and the soft footsteps approaching the door.

Will took a short step back as the door slowly opened to reveal a stunningly attractive woman standing near his side of the door. She had long waist-length wavy red hair that was untied and piercing forest green eyes that speculated them both with a raised eyebrow. She did not look Italian at all, in fact, Will could guess that she had to be of Scottish decent or at least had mostly Scottish blood. She did not have much similarities with the man who supposedly owned this house. Agent Giuseppe had given them a file regarding the owner of the house and Giuseppe had found that the house was owned by a man named Antonio Giovanni Bevisangue, a prominent and distinguished Italian painter. The file also mentioned his passing almost ten years ago due to lung cancer and that the house must have been given to one of his children. Will expected an Italian citizen to answer the door, and was somewhat surprised to see someone who did not resemble Antonio Giovanni in the slightest. However, when she spoke, her accent was undeniably Italian.

 _“Buongiorno, buon_ signore _. Come posso aiutarti?”_ She cocked her head to one side in a confused gesture.

            _“Non mi aspettavo visitatori di oggi.”_

            Will did not speak Italian, and he knew that Jack did not either. He cleared his throat to get the woman’s attention and prayed that she spoke English.

            _“Buongiorno_ , ma’am. We apologize for the sudden intrusion of your time. I am Special Agent Will Graham and this is Special Agent Jack Crawford. We are here to request a few minutes of your time to answer some questions regarding a certain investigation. If you may be so kind, may we come in to talk with you?” Will attempted to be as polite as he can, hoping that this would ease the woman’s nerves despite his announcement that they were agents.

            “Agents? You are American.” She stated with a nod of her head and a slight lilting accent to her English.

            “I assume you are from the FBI, no? May I ask why I am being investigated and what do I have to do with this investigation that you have?” She asked with a slight frown.

            Jack decided to speak up this time instead of Will.

            “Madam, I promise you that we will explain everything once we are inside your house. This conversation is best kept inside and is not very appropriate for everybody else to hear.” Jack pleaded with a slight smile.

            The woman crossed her arms and appraisingly stared straight into their eyes.

            “I would allow you to enter my home, but first, do you have a warrant?” She asked challengingly.

            Jack smiled and produced the warrant from his small leatherette messenger bag before handing it over to her.

            “Yes ma’am, we do.”

            The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow before slowly taking the warrant and reading it meticulously.

            Will and Jack stood patiently, waiting for her confirmation that the warrant was indeed bona fide. Jack looked at Will a bit questioningly, as if wondering why the woman was being quite difficult. Will shrugged, though he could not blame her at all. If he was in her position he would very much _not want_ his privacy to be invaded by anyone.          

            Both men heard her sigh in resignation and they swiveled their heads just as she was about to hand over the warrant. She then opened the door of her home wider, in an invitation for them to enter. Jack gratefully took the paper from her hand and stowed it back to his messenger bag.

            “ _Molto bene_ , you may enter.” She gracefully turned away from them and swished her right hand lazily.

            Will entered the house first followed closely behind by Jack who turned around to close the door. He was then subjected to the interior of the house and was mildly surprised to see that it was quite organized though not meticulously so. He saw a great number of canvasses lining one side of the wall, a few easels perched near it and two small wheeled carts littered with various paintbrushes and paint tubes. There was a large cream-colored sofa, an eight-seater dining table and an impressive kitchen. The place was clearly well-lived in and if Will was being honest, it was quite comfortable and appealing. The overall theme of the house was focused on earth tones accentuated with bricks or wood. The interior was also quite large and spacious and hardly contained any bric-a-bracs or artistic pieces, it was minimalist and straight to the point.

            “Would you care for something to drink, Agents Crawford and William? Coffee? Tea? Wine perhaps?” The woman called from the extravagant kitchen.

            Will was snapped out of his musings of the house and turned towards the woman who was rummaging through a cabinet just above her stove. She pulled out a box of what William could read was some sort of high quality tea.

            “Coffee would be just fine for me, thank you.” Jack replied.

            The woman looked at Will with a questioning glance.

            “I’ll have tea instead, thanks.” Will replied quickly.

            The woman stared a bit longer at him with an unreadable expression before nodding her head in acknowledgement of his request. She took out two tea bags from the box and placed them separately on two black porcelain mugs before turning around to grab the coffee maker that contained freshly brewed coffee.

            Will frowned while staring at freshly brewed coffee.

            The woman caught her stare and she smirked slightly without Will noticing.

            “I just made coffee a few minutes ago, it is still hot, Agent Crawford. Also, Agent William, I only have Chamomile Tea, would that be acceptable for you?”

            Will looked up at her green eyes and nodded his head in approval.

            _‘Something feels off.’_ Will thought.

            When the three mugs were resting on the island counter top, the woman motioned for both of them to approach and sit themselves on the high rise chairs.

            “Please, sit down and make yourselves comfortable as you explain to me your predicament.” She requested in that lilting accent of hers.

Jack and Will sat down beside each other opposing the woman. Jack was just about to open his mouth when Will abruptly spoke up first, stopping him just in time.

“I apologize for being very rude, however, I did not even ask your name.” Will suddenly remembered and was slightly aghast that he did not even bother to ask the woman’s name before they entered her home.

He really does need to go out and socialize more. He greeted her from the door and he actually forgot to even ask her name. He shook off the grimace on his face and tried to aim for an apologetic look instead.

“I would like to rectify my mistake. We are – once again – Agents Will Graham and Jack Crawford, what might your name be, ma’am?” He asked, as politely as he could.

His words earned him a bright smile that slightly reached her eyes that crinkled at the sides, and Will realized that she looked very attractive and approachable when she smiled compared to when she was outright glaring and judging.

“I was wondering when you would say that, Agent William. I was actually beginning to think you’d forgotten to ask.” She teased lightly.

“My name is Esperanza Bevisangue. The youngest child of Antonio Giovanni Bevisangue and Catriona Bevisangue. I work as a painter for the higher society of Italy much like my father and his father before him.” She smiled softly.

Will looked at her with a slightly scrutinizing look in his eyes.

“I assume your mother is of Scottish descent? We have pulled a file on your Italian father and you look nothing like him. You most probably have more similarities with your mother.” He concluded.

Once more, Esperanza smiled softly at Will.

“How perceptive of you, Agent William. You assume correctly, _signore_. My mother _is_ of Scottish descent and yes I look after my mother in almost all aspects of my physical features. Some would even say we look almost like twins.”

Jack nodded and decided to go to business immediately now that the formalities are out of the way.

“Madam, what we will reveal to you is highly classified and should be handled well. I do not wish to alarm you or scare you, however, we really do need to be as honest with you as possible.”

Esperanza squinted her eyes in confusion.

“What are you saying?”

Jack looked straight at Esperanza unblinkingly.

“Miss Bevisangue, I believe your life is in danger.”

 

Esperanza looked at Jack skeptically and with an air of greater confusion.

“I do not understand.” She said, her Italian accent turning more pronounced than usual.

“How could my life be in danger?”

Jack then produced the envelope containing the letter that Dr. Hannibal Lecter was supposed to send to this very house and proceeded to hand it over to Esperanza. Esperanza Bevisangue took hold of the letter carefully and with a nod from Jack, proceeded to open its contents.

She browsed at the letter with a frown on her features, looking as confused as before.

Will stared intently at her expression, deducing whether or not they were genuine or acted. He could not determine if she was truly confused or just acting so, but the slight upturn of her lips to a pout and the meeting of her eyebrows showed that she sincerely did not understand how the letter could be of importance to her. However, her eyes said a whole different story. The green orbs looked calculating and secretive, never revealing anything.

Will was certain that she was hiding something from them.

“Pardon me, _signore_. But, what have I got to do with this letter?” She looked at Jack with a slight frown.

Jack shook his head before answering.

“That letter was supposed to be mailed to this address. And unless someone who is named Angelo lives here, I assume that this letter is not addressed to you. Does anyone named Angelo live here, Miss Bevisangue?”

Esperanza shook her head.

“None that I am aware of, no. And neither anyone from my family and ancestors are named Angelo. In fact, I’m not even sure if anyone in this subdivision is named such. At least none among those that I know of.” She frowned.

Jack nodded slowly.

“This is why your life is in imminent danger.”

Esperanza still looked confused, although now, Will can detect a hint of frustration.

“I still do not understand, Agents William and Crawford. How in the world could my life be in danger!? You have not explained anything aside from handing over this letter to me. Which proved to not offer any explanation as well.” The tone of her voice reached a higher octave and her eyes flashed with slight anger.

Jack lifted both his hands in a placating gesture.

“Do you know a man named, Dr. Hannibal Lecter? Perhaps you have heard of him from the news?”

Esperanza frowned before looking thoughtful.

“I have heard of Dr. Lecter, although not from the news, I do not really watch the news that much; I prefer reading the papers. However, Dr. Lecter was quite well-loved among the arts and music patrons of Italy. He is a Psychiatrist, no? He would often attend the gatherings of the higher echelons here in Italy.”

Jack nodded slowly in agreement.

“You are correct. Dr. Hannibal Lecter is all that. . . and more.”

Esperanza frowned.

“And. . . _more_? _Per favore_ , explain.”

Will decided to speak up this time.

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter is currently being tracked down for the murders of more than fifteen people. Some going way back as far as twenty years ago. Before we could apprehend him while he was still staying in Baltimore, Maryland, he succeeded in evading capture and running away. News about him went cold after his escape and this is the first time that the FBI had caught wind of any news about him for the last three years or so.”

Esperanza’s eyes widened in shock.

“Are you saying he is here in Italy? Right now? And that I may be his target?” She sounded frightened and slightly panicky.

Will tried to calm her down without withholding the truth from her.

“We cannot be sure if he is targeting you specifically. However, the letter was sent to your house address and we can assume that he knows you live here.”

“But nobody named Angelo lives here!? Could it not be possible that the letter company simply made a wrong send!?” Her voice sounded more high-pitched and frightened.

At least, Will surmises that she sounded frightened, but he cannot be sure, she may be withholding information from them too. Will had learned from the Academy that simply because people come-off to you as innocent, it does not exactly mean that they are. Some are better at acting than anybody could ever tell.

‘ _Yes, and Hannibal has to be the best actor of them all. For all your training in the FBI. For all your EMPATHY, he still wriggled his way into your life and kept himself away from the limelight of justice. And the worst part? You TRUSTED him! You never even suspected him!’_ His conscience mocked.

“We have indeed considered that and we shall check with the letter company just to be sure. From what I know of Dr. Lecter, however, he is not one to commit mistakes. He is calculated in his decisions and he does not act without thinking about things such as these for an extensive period of time.”

Esperanza regarded Will with an enigmatic look in her eye and though her lips remained serious, Will could swear that he saw her lip twitch upwards for a slight smile, but it was gone before he could assure himself.

“ _Everyone_ makes mistakes, Agent William. This Dr. Lecter of yours – no matter how intelligent or calculated he may be – he is still as human as you and I. And I would not put it past anyone – not even him – that he would make a mistake.”

Jack regarded her words with a frown whilst Will gave her a piercing stare. Esperanza returned Will’s stare with her own piercing green eyes. Jack cleared his throat to get their attention.

“For now, madam, we would recommend that you keep an eye out for yourself and be vigilant about your surroundings. Keep necessary security measures for your home and if you would like, we can offer one of our police officers to guard you for precautionary measures.”

Esperanza looked thoughtful for a few seconds, regarding Will and Jack with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Would it be alright if you check with the letter company first? And once you are sure that the letter is not a wrong send, I give you permission to station an officer outside my home at night. And _only_ at night. I do not appreciate having to see an officer outside my home every day and giving me paranoia that would undoubtedly make me feel like I have to look over my shoulder every single moment of the day.”

Jack opened his mouth to disagree with her but she cut him off before he had the chance to say anything.

“I appreciate your concern, Agent Crawford. And I do understand your desire to keep me as safe as possible while making sure that I am not entertaining Dr. Lecter in my house without your knowledge. However, I do not want to live in fear. I wish to have a semblance of normalcy now that this situation as arisen in my life. Please, understand why I wish this.” She requested firmly not brooking for any argument while still maintaining the elegant air that she had exuded the moment Will and Jack spoke to her.

Jack slowly nodded his head in understanding.

Esperanza gave him a curt nod in return.

“Thank you, Agent Crawford. Agent William. Would that be all?”

Jack and Will stood up from their seats, their jobs done and their mugs empty. Jack offered his hand to Esperanza as a goodbye.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Bevisangue.” Esperanza took the outstretched hand and shook it firmly.

“We will return if ever you need to be informed of something.” Will added while offering up his hand.

Esperanza smiled at Will before taking his hand.

“I’m sure you will, Agent William.” She squeezed his hand before catching his gaze and holding it for a few seconds. Jack did not seem to notice their exchange.

Will entered the front passenger seat of the Fiat and looked towards his side mirror to view Esperanza as Jack drove further and further away from the house until it was but a speck from his view.

But it was not until they were in the more busy area of Tuscany when he realized that Esperanza Bevisangue called him _‘William’_ when he only introduced himself as _‘Will’_ and that it oddly reminded him of the way Hannibal had called him William from before.

 

 

Esperanza lead them out to the door and watched from the front steps of her home as the FBI cars drove away.

A small smile spread across her lips as she watched the cars grow smaller and smaller into the horizon.

 _‘The plan is in motion. Let the games begin.’_ She mused in her mind with a slight chuckle.


	9. LET THE GAMES BEGIN, LET THE CARDS BE SHOWN

SUNDAY NIGHT: FLORENCE, ITALY

            The flashing lights streaming out of an open laptop illuminated the face of man who was watching a video of Dr. Hannibal Lecter during one of the extravagant parties held in a hotel in Florence, Italy. He suspected that it was probably after a theater performance from one of the expensive opera houses in the country. The man’s brown eyes calculatedly stared at every movement that Dr. Lecter made. From the way his left hand delicately and yet firmly grasped the neck of the wine glass he held, or the way his eyes would rake at every person he comes in contact with and to the way his head would bob slightly in polite greeting, a small smile plastered on his lips. He watched as Dr. Lecter extended his right hand to one of the guests who the man presumes was one of the chairmen of the board of the opera and how he firmly grasped the hand offered to him in a gesture of a handshake.

            He slowly moved his fingers towards another tab on his screen to reveal the website of the infamous Fredericka Lounds; the Tattlecrime.com. In this site, he browsed on the murder scenes that FBI had allegedly fathomed to be the work of the Chesapeake Ripper who has now been unmasked as Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Series after series of pictures sped across the screen, from the antler room of the Hobbs Shack to the battered and half-dead body of Special Agent Will Graham lying down on a hospital bed with a long blood slash painting his stomach and several apparatuses plugged in his body to keep him alive.

            A slight shiver ran through the man’s spine as each picture depicted the calculated and precise handiworks of Dr. Lecter. But it was not a shiver of fear or apprehension that pooled in the pits of his stomach. But rather the shiver of _awe_ and _admiration_ at how beautiful his artworks are. Every bloody wound and ripped skin of all his victims showed the intense passion that he exudes when he kills. How he turned murder into an art will always be the man’s inspiration for achieving the same things Dr. Hannibal Lecter has achieved. And though he could never be on par with him, being recognized and having Dr. Lecter’s attention on _his_ own works is more than enough to satisfy him.

            He smiled softly as he closed the laptop screen and turned his head to wear he placed the long curved dagger he had purchased a few nights ago at one of the shady areas of Italy. He had studied and practiced almost all the murders that Dr. Lecter had been suspected of committing. He had recreated the murder scenes in his basement using dummy dolls and various knives and tools that he believed would make the murders almost similar to the ones that Dr. Lecter had done.

            But now, it was time to up his game and show everyone what he has been preparing for almost three years. He felt giddy and excited to finally be having the chance to get the attention of the one man who never knew how great of an aficionada he was of his work.

            His fingers closed around the knife handle and he stood up carefully before slowly turning around to face the man who was tied up on a metal hook suspended above an empty basement room of a museum. The man was shirtless his mouth roughly gagged and bruised on the edges due to the strain that the white cloth was giving him. His eyes were blood shot as tears silently streamed down his cheeks to join with the sweat that coated his whole body. His wrists were reddening from the painful way it was bound by the metal chains that were pulled above his head. A muffled noise of fear and panic sounded from his gagged mouth as he saw the dagger that the man was gripping in his right hand.

            The man lightly chuckled at his predicament.

            “Now, now, there’s no need to worry. I will make this as swift and as painless as I can. No need to bring you such unnecessary suffering for you are only the beginning of many more to come. And I need to make a statement that will be as symbolic as it is simple. And for that, I have no need for the theatrics _yet_.”

            The man tied up began to flail and scream attempting to get anybody’s attention. His eyes pooled with tears as he began to whimper and cry.

            The man with the knife smiled softly as he approached the man tied up with slow measured steps, as if he were a wild animal about to attack. He placed the tip of his pointer finger on the man’s chin and raised it up to meet his eyes. The tearful eyes that stared back looked at him pleadingly; begging to be released unharmed.

            He sighed.

            “I really am sorry for this. But it is necessary that I use you specifically, for your physical features resemble that of the person I was aiming to somehow copy.”

            He smiled apologetically at the man who was now whimpering even louder and trying to break away the chains that bound his hands.

            “Worry not, you will be used well. You should feel honored, your body would be a part of a glorious masterpiece, one that begins today and will be remembered all throughout history. The papers will mention your name, your face would be flashed all over Italy and you will gain so much fame!”

            A bright grin stretched out on the man’s face as he took a step back to spread his arms wide in indication of all the good things that would befall on the tied-up man cowering in front of him who shook his head over and over to indicate that he did not want to be a part of any of his plans whatever that might be.

            The man holding the knife laughed out loud before shaking his head in amusement. He approached the man once more before poising the curved knife on the left side of the man’s stomach. The tied-up man’s eyes widened in horror before he took a deep breath, trying to pull in air from his stomach so that the knife would not touch it. But the knife pressed even closer to the skin breaking it and allowing a trail of blood to flow out from the cut. The man screamed under his gag and began to wail. He looked down on the man doing this to him who stared back with a demented smile plastered on his lips his eyes glinting with crazed delight.

            “Thank you for your assistance. But the games _must_ begin. And my hand has been forced to show its cards.”

            He swiftly slashed through the skin of the tied-up man’s stomach, cutting the knife deep and allowing his intestines to spill out as the blood gushed steadily from the man’s suspended trouser-clad legs to the dusty concrete floor. The man gurgled and flailed from his bindings, his eyes rolling back in pained delirium. The knife was pulled away from the other end from where it began on the man’s stomach. The hand that pulled it away covered in blood up to its arm. Splashes of red decorated some parts of the man’s pristine white long-sleeved polo shirt.

            The man wielding the knife took a step back once the body stopped twitching after a few minutes. His eyes were closed, a serene smile stretched on his lips. He spread his arms wide, one hand holding the bloodied knife and the other slightly spattered from the blood that gushed forth from the now dead body that hung before him. He slowly opened his eyes as he gazed in appreciation at his artwork – his _masterpiece_.

            _‘Long have I waited for this moment; the moment where I will be recognized for my work – my passion.’_

            The man crouched before the body and reverently placed the knife on the ground parallel to the hanging dead man, blood slowly dripping from the tip of his shoes. He stood up with a closed-lipped smile and took three steps back, admiring the beauty of how the dying light of the sun slashed through the man’s pale form, giving him an almost ethereal look about him. He turned his back from the scene, grabbed his long black trench coat from its folded position in one of the dilapidated leather sofa seats and wearing it gracefully before slowly opening the door and stepping out into the cold, abandoned corridors of the museum. It was almost night, only a few more souls loitered about in the museum halls, and none of them saw or gave notice the man who wore a black long coat covered in blood underneath.


	10. BLOOD WILL BE SHED, FEATHERS UNFOLDED

MONDAY MORNING: FLORENCE, ITALY, UFFIZI GALLERY

            6:00am.

Will Graham stood silently among the throng of police officers that hustled and scurried here and there around the gruesome crime scene that they were called into. No one gave him a glance, too caught up on their own work trying to collect as much evidence as they can. He stared expressionless at the bloodied corpse hanging on the rafters of the basement of a museum in Italy. Chains held the man’s bruised wrists up while his head lolled downwards, dried blood matting his face and hair. The man’s body was perfectly straight with his shoe-clad feet suspended a few inches from the ground, also matted with dried blood. He was shirtless, a long cleanly cut wound spreading from one side of his stomach to the other in a horizontal line allowed his entrails to fall from his body, the large intestine almost touching the concrete floor that was splashed with the same crimson that covered the man. He could see the liver and the kidney protruding from the long line of entrails. A single curved knife lay on the floor right in front of the man that was hanging. All the blood that poured out covered the knife crimson that not even the brown colored handle could be noticeable.

            Will felt sick.

            Sick of this scene.

            Sick of always seeing something as corrupt as this.

            He hated it.

            _‘Your bad luck that you’re the best, pal.’_

            Jack Crawford’s words resonated in his mind, he remembered them clearly, back when he was in Baltimore working for the FBI, trying to catch a killer that apparently was none other than the man trying to help him gain balance in his life; his own psychiatrist and friend.

            “Dr. Andre Sogliato, long-standing Chief Curator of the Uffizi Gallery, aged sixty-eight, widowed, no known children, he has a sister who works as a painter here in Florence and has already been contacted regarding Dr. Sogliato’s death.” Jack spoke suddenly from beside him, shaking him out of his own musings. He vaguely heard all the information that Jack suddenly mentioned but he understood the gist of it.

            “He was found here at 5:00 am by the morning guard who was due to do his rounds and open up the Gallery.” Jack informed once more.

            “How did the guard end up here in the basement? It seems quite far from the places that usually needed to be checked in the morning.” Will asked.

            Jack nodded.

            “Apparently, security here is quite strict, three guards roam around the place every day for three shifts, giving a total of nine guards being employed by the gallery. One of the S.O.P.’s was to check the restricted sections of the museum every shift, in case there would be any unwanted ‘guests’.”

            Will looked at Jack with a raised brow.

            “What caused them to acquire such firm security measures?”

            Jack smirked.

            “A robbery that happened a few years back. An expensive and priceless painting was almost stolen in the process, if it were not for the nightly rounds that one of the guards did on that day.”

            Will made a soundless ‘ah’ gesture with his mouth, letting his expressionless eyes stare back at the corpse whose closed eyelids did not stare back. Will allowed his own to close as he waited for Jack to pull everyone away from the crime scene so he could do his “thing” – as Jack liked to call it.

            “All right people! Please vacate the crime scene for a while, Special Agent Will _needs_ to be alone for him to make a proper assessment!” Jack hollered to everyone that was bustling about in the room.

            Will allowed a small smile to grace his lips at what he heard.

_‘Proper assessment, eh? Is that how it’s professionally called now?’_

            He then removed all thoughts from his mind as he felt the imaginary pendulum swing once, twice, thrice. And while the people behind him were vacating the crime scene, in his mind, the crime scene was also vacating itself. The blood on the floor disappeared, the wound on Dr. Sogliato’s stomach, closed and mended. And instead of a foul putrid corpse, Dr. Sogliato was very much alive, tied up and a bit bruised and shirtless, but alive nonetheless.

            Will stared up at the squirming and frightened Dr. Sogliato with an expressionless face. The man before him was whimpering and begging to be released. And though he was gagged and could not say a word, his eyes were filled with tears of fear and they _begged_ for mercy with such fervor. Will saw his hand move up to the Doctor’s stomach, realizing that he held in his hand a curved knife. The Doctor began to pull away, trying to put as much distance from himself and Will whose hand was slowly inching ever so closer to the Doctor’s exposed stomach, Will looked up to the man and slowly smiled cruelly before stabbing the knife into one end of the stomach and slicing the flesh beneath, allowing blood to spray and spill on his arms, shirt and the concrete floor of the room. He carefully pulled out the knife from the other end of the stomach and took a short step back to look up and admire his work; his masterpiece. He smiled softly before Dr. Sogliato as twitched and gurgled out blood from his mouth before slowly stilling and becoming silent. Will placed the knife in front of the corpse, parallel to the hanging body before straightening up and moving backwards; three steps away from the dead museum curator.

_‘This is my design.’_

            Will opened his eyes with a gasp. Hacking and coughing with disgust at what he just saw. He then looked up and realized that he had moved closer to the corpse and his right hand was extended towards the knife slash created on Dr. Sogliato’s stomach. He flinched at the realization but was minutely glad that he did not touch any parts of his body or stepped on the pool of blood beneath him.

            _‘Oh thank fuck, I won’t be reprimanded for contaminating the evidence. Again.’_ Will thought with a loud sigh.

            He slipped his left hand inside the pocket of his black trousers and fished for the cellphone kept there. He unlocked the phone and dialed Jack’s number.

            The phone rang once, twice before it was picked up.

            “Will?” Jack asked. Static could be heard and he guessed that the basement did not have good reception due to it being so far below ground.

            “Jack.” Will replied curtly.

            “You can call them back in now. I’ve done my “thing”, and we need to talk. Call Bev, Jimmy, and Brian.”

            Static.

            “Alright, I’ll tell the Italian Evidence Team to go back in. Meet me here at the Reception’s Desk. I just have to make a quick call.”

            Will nodded without replying and turned off the call.

            He shoved his phone back into his trouser pocket and left the basement. But just before crossing the threshold to the basement door, he turned and looked back one last time at the dead curator whose suspended body was swaying eerily from the way he hung from the chains. An almost ethereal look fell upon the corpse as the early morning sun seeped from the small windows of the basement to illuminate the hanging body. Will could not help but find it ironic that while looking at the murdered man, it reminded him so much of Jesus Christ being nailed to the Cross for the sins of humanity.

            _‘Whose sins are you paying for, I wonder?’_ Will mused darkly.

            _‘Yours? Or mine?’_

            He felt disheartened at the idea that this man might have died because of him going to Italy. He already knew the risks that they were taking when they accepted the invitation to fly to this country and assist in the investigation of one Hannibal Lecter.

            Dr. Lecter has amassed quite the number of aficionados when it was found out that he had manipulated the FBI for quite a long period of time. Hiding the fact that he was a cannibalistic psychopath. All sorts of psychologically problematic individuals began professing their love and admiration for the Doctor and had done so by either copying the way he kills, taunting the FBI with written messages or proclaiming that their horrific actions were done in Hannibal Lecter’s name.

            For the first year of Doctor Hannibal Lecter’s disappearance, the FBI was in a flurry of activity; trying to discern whether a murder committed was done by the actual Hannibal Lecter or an admirer. Death and homicide counts steadily increased, as if the revelation of Dr. Lecter’s true nature had caused such an inspiration on the society of psychopaths and sociopaths and brought them to act out on their whims and attempted to do as Dr. Lecter had done. The FBI apprehended numerous murderers and psychopaths during that year.

            On the second year of Dr. Lecter’s disappearance, the number of murders began to gradually decrease and die down to an almost shockingly low level. It was as if the killers and admirers had realized that if they continued to be obvious in their killings, they would easily be caught. They also seemed to have understood that they could never be as good as Dr. Lecter in the field of “creating their own unique design” without being incarcerated or bringing about the attention of the police. And before the third year of his disappearance came up, the FBI had stopped apprehending any serial killers and everything began to return back to its normal pace and time.

            The third year of his disappearance was a very quiet year; no murders committed, no admirers apprehended, no serial killers being profiled and chased – the silence from all the bloody deaths experienced the previous year was deafening as much as it was favorably embraced and accepted. Slowly, Hannibal Lecter’s name fell from the news and was almost forgotten completely by the public. Until now.

            Will walked slowly through the corridors of the Uffizi Gallery, glancing appreciatively at the rare and preserved paintings of old that hung proudly on the walls. He allowed himself to enjoy and bask in the silence of the cold early morn of the gallery – when people are still asleep in their beds, dreaming of beautiful and colorful fantasies that hail from their imaginative power.

            _‘How I wish I could dream as they do.’_ Will sneered.

            _‘Dream of unicorns and rainbows. Of sunlit forests and soft rippling brooks. Not blood stained floors and slashed open bodies of murder scenes with the killer haunting my every waking moment.’_ He laughed hysterically and the guard passing by stopped to stare at him – confused and slightly frightened by his sudden maniacal outburst.

            He stifled a short dark chuckle that threatened to come out of his mouth lest he be deemed unfit for work due to insanity. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. He kept his head down as he walked away from the prying eyes of the guard and when he had walked a vast amount of distance, he allowed himself to break into a melancholy smile. He kept his head down for a few short moments before lifting them up again and realizing that he stopped right in front of the painting made by Artemisia Gentileschi.

The masterpiece beautifully depicted a man lying down on what seemed to be white bed cushions while two women were holding him pinned to the bed. One held a long sword to his neck and was subsequently slicing it as blood dripped down and stained the white sheets crimson. The woman’s face held an air of passivity while still taking her job quite seriously. The other woman was roughly gripping the man down and as if she was putting up a great deal of effort to keep the man pinned. One of the man’s large fist was placed underneath her chin just above her sternum, an obvious attempt at trying to push the woman away from him.

Will eyes slanted down to the man who stared upside down at him with difficult pleading eyes. His mouth slightly opened as he tried to fight back against the two women who were evidently going to murder him for some reason or another. His face slightly contorted into a mask of pain and struggle. But a part of him – Will would like to believe and empathize with – seems to be giving in to acceptance. Acceptance that he won’t make it, that he won’t survive, that he _will_ die. And Will would like to think that sometimes, you just have to accept what is inevitably going to happen anyway.

_‘Do you believe that you can change me, the way I have changed you?’_

_‘I already did.’_

            He remembered that moment clearly. He would often rewind it in his dreams at night and daydreams in the morning. How Hannibal had regarded him with sad soulful eyes and asked him the question that made him realize that he needed to accept all that has happened and will happen to him in the future.

_‘I already did.’_

            His reply was one made of pure conviction and surety. Even he could not deny that Hannibal and he had changed one another so profoundly that they will carry the scars they have left on each other for the rest of their lives – both the literal and figurative wounds. He allowed his glassy eyes to focus on the painting once more, trying to commit to mind every detail, every expression of the people involved.

            “Judith and Holofernes. Truly a masterpiece created by Artemisia Gentileschi.” A voice beside him suddenly spoke up.

            Will was abruptly startled out of his thoughts as he heard a man speak somewhere on his left behind him. He blinked once, twice before partly turning towards the man without really seeing him.

            “I beg your pardon?” He asked, not remembering what the man had said.

            “The painting you are currently scrutinizing and staring at with such an emotional expression and gleaming eyes is called _‘Judith and Holofernes’_ by Artemisia Gentileschi.” The man then stepped beside him and Will was finally able to see the mystery speaker.

            He was an averagely tall man, wearing what Will thought would be the usual curator outfit consisting of a dark black suit on top of a pristine long-sleeved button up polo shirt, black trousers, a deep burgundy necktie and shiny black shoes. His hair was what the youth would like to call ‘artfully tousled’ and it complemented well with his angular facial features and deep cheekbones. Overall, he was what people would most probably refer to as ‘attractive’, Will thought he could compare him to one of the male muses chosen by sculptors or painters. But, what really caught Will’s attention was his eyes – they were a deep ocean blue that Will thought was extremely expressive as they reflected the light bouncing all over the marble floorings inside the gallery.

 _‘He has eyes that can never lie.’_ mused Will.

_‘Especially towards an empath such as me.’_

            The man slightly turned to Will and gave him a soft genuine smile before offering his right hand in greeting.

            “I apologize for startling you, I guess I just really wanted you to know what the painting is called.” His accent was undeniably Italian, though not as deep, Will thinks he probably must have visited America or some other English speaking country and stayed there for a period of time.

            “My name is Dominique. Dominique Romano, I am the apprentice of Dr. Sogliato.”

            Will’s eyes grew in recognition as he shook the hand extended towards him.

            “I am very sorry for your loss. My name is Special Agent Will Graham. I am from the FBI.”

            Dominique smiled sadly as he gave a short nod before letting go of Will’s hand.

            “Thank you, Agent Will. He and I were quite close to one another, he took me under his wing when I came here after studying in the United States.”

            ‘ _Ah, so he did study in the US. That would explain the accent.’_ Will nodded at him.

“I was just in New York yesterday, sealing a painting deal we had made a month prior. I was tasked by Dr. Sogliato to collect the painting promised to us by a dealer we had contacted. We were supposed to meet tomorrow, to see what needed to be fixed about the painting.” His eyes grew somber as he spoke even more.

            “He e-mailed me yesterday, telling me that he could not wait for my return to Italy before jesting that it was actually the painting he was excited to see and not me.” Dominique gave a pained smile though his eyes remained sad.

            Will looked at him with what he hoped was a sympathetic expression and not a grimace of uncertainty. He truly wanted to feel his pain and sadness – relate to it, even – but Will thought better of it and decided that it might be a distraction and it will not help the investigation if his empathy was clouded by such emotions.

            “We are doing our best in finding out who did this to Dr. Sogliato, I beg of you to just hold on. I assure you we will do everything in our power to give him justice and to apprehend the person who had done this to him.” Will murmured with much conviction.

            He then looked at Will, allowing their eyes to meet, Will held his gaze for as long as he could, trying to convey the sincerity of his words. Dominique nodded before turning away to look at the painting once more.

            “Was his sister contacted regarding his death?”

            Will nodded.

            “Yes. Mrs. Alessandra Rossi was contacted regarding Dr. Sogliato’s passing.” Will winced at the word he chose.

            Passing.

            It sounded uncharacteristically peaceful and painless – a far cry from what truly happened to the unfortunate curator.

            _‘More like violent demise.’_ Will grimaced internally.

            Dominique nodded once more, still without looking at Will.

            “She won’t be able to take this in stride. He was very dear to her, they have been extremely close to one another ever since they were children, surviving together during hard times, and celebrating with joy during their individual moments of success.”

            Dominique’s eyes roamed the painting of Artemisia Gentuleschi before turning back to regard Will with an expressionless face who in turn regarded Dominique with a firm stare.

            “I am glad to have met you, Agent Will Graham. Please continue to find the one responsible for Dr. Sogliato’s murder for I wish for him to be brought some form justice. He deserves that much and more. I cannot bring back the Doctor to life, even if I dearly miss him and would want him to do so, the least I could do is to give his spirit rest and the memory of him peace. And I believe that the best way to do so is to find his killer and apprehend him for his crimes. If ever you do need my help – in any way possible – please do not hesitate to ask it of me.” He murmured with a serious inflection.

            Will nodded in agreement.

            “Indeed. Fair enough.”

            Dominique nodded along with him.

 

            Silence reigned on the two men once more.

            “Might I ask-“ Will began.

            “What are your relations to Dr. Sogliato? He seems to be very dear to you.”

 

            Dominique smiled sadly.

            “He was much like a father to me, especially since I never knew my own in the first place. He took me in after I finished my education back in the United States. No one wanted to take me to be their assistant and mentee when I went to Italy, this was due to the fact that I was not Italian and most curators have discriminations on the idea that it should be an _Italian_ who will man and preside over _Italian_ museums and galleries. I am half American and I spent most of my life in the States before migrating here with my mother. Dr. Sogliato paid that old belief no heed and proceeded to take me under his guidance.” A soft fond smile graced Dominique’s lips as he regarded his tale.

            Will watched him carefully and with a wistful stare as well.

            “He told me that he saw much prospective in me when it came to art dealings. He said that I had an eye for beauty, an extremely good memory and pleasing social skills to boot. He saw the potential in my becoming a licensed art dealer and helping him in maintaining the museum every now and then. He gave me an opportunity to prove myself and has stood in as my father figure for the past fifteen years. He was, is, and always will be very dear to me.”

            Dominique’s eyes had that faraway wistful look as he regarded the empty hallway before them as Will stood silently by his side.

            “Then I give you this promise now, we will find this murderer, we will give Dr. Sogliato justice even if it’s the last thing I have to do. You can hold on that vow.” Will replied with much verdict.

            Dominique’s stare turned hopeful as he looked at Will for the last time. He nodded after holding his gaze and offering up his right hand in greeting.

            “Thank you, Agent Will. I appreciate that. Good luck to you. Deus benedicat.”

            Will took his hand in a firm grip before shaking it.

            _‘Indeed.’_ He thought.

            _‘May GOD bless and help us all.’_


End file.
